To My Son In Iraq

There's a new space show
at the Rose Center.
It's all about collisions,
how one little particle, or
cosmic rock thrown
off course, can make
a moon, or tilt a planet
into life. And though
I felt comforted among
the stars you love,
I'm beginning to accept
we're never safe,
the universe always
in motion, even when
we sleep, particles
making and re-making
our bodies, the world
between us a fire
that burns away
the planks of the heart.
I don't know how
they calibrated those
holographic comets and
asteroids with the
thunder of impact,
each explosion just
bearable. I tensed up
anyway, as I do
when cars and trucks
blow up on the news.
I almost closed my eyes,
but I could feel you
in the empty seat
beside me, shake
your head, and say
You're too timid,
the way you did when
you were twelve
and I was afraid to open
the door I'd forgotten
to lock. You
went in ahead of me.

Copyright © 2006 Frances Richey All rights reserved
from River Styx
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission