“Mommy, why can’t we see the gods?”

A sudden question in the moments

before the bedtime forehead kiss

that shields her from dark dreams.

 

She is laid out on her bed.

Arms and legs spread wide,

berry black curls splayed

beneath her head.

Her old-young eyes

are moonlit night.

 

I grasp for an elusive truth.

“Some people think

they live up in the sky.

Some people think

they live in our

imaginations.”

 

“What do you think mommy?”

 

What do I think?

What DO I think?

“I think they live

in our imaginations,

and in our hearts.”

 

My truth lands with

a thud and stumbles.

Her truth rings

clear and high

as a glass bell.

 

“I think they are

high, high, up in the sky,

through space

out in space.

And if you go

to outer space

you will see them.”

 

She wants to be

an astronaut mommy.

And now, I see

that she and her children

will meet the gods,

see them there

touch them,

know them

and dance.