I wrote two. They seem connected but individual. Maybe later they'll end up part of one poem.
How You Know
I tell her it’s like delivering the afterbirth,
or when you pitch a perfect curve ball
or drop a stuffed a zucchini blossom into the pan without it tearing.
It’s what you do to finish what you started,
the second just before you get your life back.
What It Is
Maybe it’s that he left home expecting to be free
and look what comes running after him.
Maybe it’s what never changes;
you have a good day, and then you don’t.
Maybe it’s that we’re all trying to choose between the lesser of two evils
and we rarely know, up close, what evil is.
Maybe it’s that a man gave his children rat poison because he couldn’t afford to feed
them,
and sat in the next room weeping while they died of thirst.
Maybe it’s that two people in their sixties got married by a river
and their six grown children kissed them, rejoicing.
Maybe it’s all of it
and we can’t see it.
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