THE CHILDREN   How each one is taken   with care from car  to school doorstep, each one  hand-in-hand with an adult.   How the mothers  and fathers kiss  their foreheads, first  pushing aside their bangs  or smoothing  a stray wisp.  One  parent straightens  her daughter’s velvet  headband; another wipes  dried oatmeal  from his son’s pink lips.  …

Oh the g-d in you.                                                     Thank you for what g-d you did today g-d as gold            g-d as gone                    You believe there’s g-d out there somewhere  among trash heaps that smell less these days                     …

WHAT IF my lips weren’t chapped. the candles: unburned. what if they’d stayed like that all year: whole, slender sticks, separate & shy. what if the ants didn’t run in slow lines across the table, didn’t crush to dark soot beneath a stray thumb.  if I hadn’t touched the cake: unghost the icing slipping through…