Bowl of Sky
There was not time nor world enough but there were blueberries, and there was my daughter, and there was a bowl filled with, what seemed at first, to be only milk. I keep wondering how we become who we become, who we carry with us, which sky it is that we keep sitting under. Last night, walking home under a starless sky, it occurred to me that I’ve never told Eva about the Big Dipper. We’re usually inside before dark, or there are clouds or dinner to be made, so I’ve never pointed to that shape in the sky, never said, See!, never held her small shoulders in my hands, spun her around and said, And look, there’s a little one too. Z. says when she moved to South Africa it took her months to get used to the sky. Everything was upside down. Now, the kitchen is empty save for a damp sponge with souring milk and dishes to be cleaned.