You Begin

This is how it happens: How a dog-eared evening With a long, sad face And wrinkled clothes Reminds us that temporary things Must be temporary. How boulders are turned into stones; How comedy and tragedy become history; How we become strangers all over again. It feels like tiredness; It stretches on and on like insomnia; It is as relentless as absence Yet, oh how it transfigures everything! First: It does so without malice. Second: It does so without conspiracy. Third: It does so without blaming anyone. So rake the leaves back onto the trees If it helps you; Buck up and stiffen the soft horizon; Push back the killing frost And hold the hunter moon at abeyance: The trees and the plants and the farmers Will not mind one bit. But I swear, this is how it happens, This is how it starts And where would I be in you otherwise?

I went to her for a hug and the rosary. Patriarchs carved in wax provided the light as we moved our hands across necklaces of seeds and asked our mother to pray for us. Outside--the moon bulged with light. It would be enough. We reached the end of our strings, touched our minds, our hearts, and our wings and watched the patriarchs dim with one faint exhalation. Cassidy Smith