Glass: A Journal of Poetry Volume Two Issue One       

Jim Daniels

Blue Light 

Out all night, wading through dawn’s
blue rush, I saw my parents holding hands
on the pale sidewalk, in no hurry.
I was returning from an all-nighter
at my girlfriend’s sister’s. We had shared
deep thoughts and bodily fluids. My parents’
calm pace barely quivered when they spotted me
hunched into exhaustion against the new day’s light.
They nodded across the street. No one disturbed
the moist silence with the obvious question
of where I’d been. At 17, what I didn’t know
was everything. I stabbed my blue fork
into the first cloud of the new day.
My parents went on loving each other,
sidewalk square after sidewalk square.