Of the Sad, Of the Raging

 "of the sad, of the raging"

(dedicated to all the worlds, above and below, with thanks to the writers of the upside-down circle)

________

i lift up 

my childhood

like a jar full 

of fireflies and

turn it upside down.

........

and there we are:

running around

the yard. shirtless.

and there it is: 

our father’s garden:

strawberries swelling

in the dark. swiss 

chard, waving. 

tomatoes for 

the whole neighborhood.

and there’s farmer gurkey’s

cornfield. hickory creek.

and just beyond that

the dirt path  

to coza’s drug store.

........

i turn the jar, slightly

to the left

and there we are

a few years later

at grandma duffy’s

apartment splashing

around in her pool.

we’re doing handstands

underwater, our small palms 

pressing against the floor 

of the shallow end.

who can balance best?

or hold the longest breath?

........

though there are worlds above us 

and worlds below us

we see only ours

only each other.

........

i turn my childhood back over 

and set it down

on the kitchen counter.

........

i walk the hallway, slipping my bra out

from under my t-shirt, then climb back

into bed with my wife. she’s half asleep

turns over and whispers something

i’m sure i mishear. a question: 

are you of the sad?

........

i smile. and close my eyes

sliding my hand under hers

our palms pressing together. 

........

are you? she asks again: 

are you of the sad 

or of the raging? 

........

her words go into my belly

rolling over each other.

........

a mourning dove coos

just outside our window 

the sound, turning over

in its throat.

........

yes, i say, my voice

rising to the ceiling,

spreading, then wafting

down to the floor below.

- Mary Kay Zeeb

Isla Angel de la Guarda, Baja California