In the twilight between continents,
pulled between two lives,
never fully here or there—
the infinite gradations
of indigo dropping darkness
to the horizon’s day-stirred dust
oranging the dying haze
as we lift up from the West Coast day—
hastening through the night
emerging much too soon,
aiming for a tiny island
at the distant edge
of the blank Atlantic.
I settle in for a few hour’s quiet
while unseen 30,000 feet beneath
I’m rummaging through
a memory of uncomfortable cobbles
on the so-called Brighton Beach
licking lemon icing off cupcakes with my sweet niece,
who finds a heart-shaped stone
cracked through with a vein of quartz,
a heart whole, and yet in pieces.
Home for a hoped-for funeral
Mum trapped between the here and there,
the organism beats on past the spirit’s life.
I’d put the stone heart
in her cramped-up hand.
Perhaps the coolness
Will comfort her
And let her quietly go.
A whole heart and finally, peace.