Fatima, Plain and Small

If you grow up in a grove
you can abide the plains
but you’ll scan the earth for growth,
the sky for promises of rain.
You’ll get lost in brainstorms
that green no grass,
and when you turn to mold
a thought you’ll find no one to ask.
Next time at the grove, you’ll say,
I’ll climb every tree, go on
a thinking spree, talk to every
bird and bee and tell them:
you haven’t seen what I didn’t see.

I come from the plains.

The Great Blind Spot

You beam and your face glows
with love for me. You love
with the force of gravity:
steady and steadying.
You think me Jupiter,
large and in charge, as if
I were a world unto herself.
I can tell you otherwise
but wisdom is squandered
inheritance, and so I leave you
to orbit me with your eyes.
You’ll grow and come to know
that your mother is just another
bit of ice and dust, a comma
in a punctuated sky.