just this day, a Rock Home Companion
All they need is story, so they roll in the yard, in the sun spreading out a blanket, and they play bugs, hiding in the thousand shadows of dry leaves.
Their climbing tree stands naked as if to have shaken out of a yellow dress. Yellow everywhere. Velvet.
All they need is a tree and a wheel barrel full of fall tea, and then it’s a good day. We don’t know about tomorrow, only a dinosaur, the Harley Davidson clearing its throat.
They spin around and around and around. They don’t know about tomorrow. I hear their voices, and we’re happy.
Sometimes I need help entering in, so when I see the upward curl of the magazine in the mailbox, my heart gets loud in my ears.
I stand in the road nervous at the beautiful cover photography. I flip until the poetry. I read it in the yard. Every time.
Daddy comes home and pulls the knot of his tie, finds the cotton, the jeans, the baseball cap. It’s hard to enter in, to remember the story, Rescue and Redemption. He’s been craving the water, the flash of rainbow, the fish, and the whip of line.
Today, we have these babies.
Today, we try to pray like a child.