Glass Poetry Press

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.