May the World to Come Be Neon, Be Water
       

because my shoes are too tight.
Because I no longer live
in a city of any kind.
Because my husband is asleep,
faceup, in the blue glow of night-light.
Because the crickets are loud
and the shipwreck moon
is right outside the door.
Because it beckons like a torch
I can carry indefinitely through the thicket,
through the meadow. I will furrow

the weeds en route. I will orchestrate
the greatest escape, then come back
so I can tuck a blanket around the baby,
figure out the name of the wildflowers
that bloom purple each morning and vanish
by noon. The windows are open.
I am the only one awake
when the neighbor backs his car
into his own garage door. The bedroom
turns inside out and I smooth the rubric
of his forehead. We will be all right.

Copyright © 2010 Erika Meitner All rights reserved
from Ideal Cities
Harper Perennial
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission