“Too cloudy for meteors,” Raquel texts
watching mum aspirate
into a tube, “and they say it was once
in a lifetime too.” From our triangle house
all I perceive are those clouds,
but the burning chunks of space
hurling against the mesosphere
are putting on a show I don’t
have the right angles to see –
gold and red behind the gray.
“Get some sleep,” I say,
and she won’t
and the asteroids won’t.
note: this is one of a series of poems in a chapbook I’m working on entitled “yellows”. to read them in their intended order, start here.