Law of Opposites

Mother, how do you keep a thing
you don’t want to happen yet

from coming true? Could we shut
the windows and our ears to the dark-

blue song of mourning birds? Could we
ask the sky to stop dividing the hours

exactly into two? Something is calling
me but I don’t want to go. I don’t believe

that whatever’s here must be linked only
to what isn’t. Sometimes, riding up

the hills, through the cracked bus window
I’ve seen how the moon is still faintly

visible above the tree line well past
sunrise. When a song about silver threads

and golden needles comes on the radio, I think
of thin cardboard wings laid across the bodies

of dead infants, to help their souls
make that crossing into the afterworld.

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