There’s daughter lying flat on the lawn, exactly
As one is never supposed to do, pleased
With her innovation using the lush, springy grass,
“Look! I’m making rain angels,” she announces
Gleefully as she bounces up to show me
Her temporary indentation, a pale shadow
Quickly filling back in as the blades recover
And cloud-to-cloud lightning arcs overhead.
The complicated minor narrative of other lives
And ideas that culminates, for this moment,
In the personality that is me does not scream.
Instead, with one eye on the beauty of the lightning,
Half a mind struck with fear for daughter, half
Not wanting to obliterate her delight, I say,
“Now that’s a cool invention. Yes, I see. Now
Why don’t you join me on the porch to watch
The storm? I’ll tell you some crazy things,
Like how lightning jumps from the ground
To the sky and why.” As if there ever were a why.
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