Driving Home at Night with My Children After Their Grandfather’s Funeral
See how the moon follows us?
That’s Grandpa’s face in the sky.
It smiles; so, he’s still the same.
Sleep. The way home’s always
shorter than the way you came.
Shh ... the car’s a steel measure
that swallows the road like a tape;
and we’ll all live twice as long
as it takes the snail to go
around the world on its crumpled skate.
Structure
10 lines · 10 stanzas