Today's poem is by John Gallaher

Where They Feed Their Children to Kings

The best idea I ever had
can't fit through the door, no matter how
strong we think we might feel
someday. It tells us that minerals evolved
in just this way as well. That young women
are supposed to despair in Texas
on Saturdays, while you're planning a birthday party
for a four-year-old. Maybe it's your son.
Maybe it's your daughter. One of them
is asking you how big a wave can be
and you have to tell the truth
in case things go poorly, and your estimate
has to be revised ever upward.

It has something to do with how much
you love them as they get lost in the woods
or their lives. According to reports,
when Chevrolet marketed the Nova
in Mexico, we all left our mothers and fathers
and leaned ourselves against trees
in the hill country. "It doesn't go," we say, as we start
a campfire. We pack our suitcases with ever smaller
suitcases. The sky darkens, a bit. Our voices
pick us out of any lineup at the academy of faith,
and then we're speaking for two or more
in some language we didn't know we knew.

Copyright © 2011 John Gallaher All rights reserved
from Colorado Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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