Not as Much a Slouch Towards Bethlehem¹ as an Inch Towards Where We Were

All of April has been ablaze with bluejays
and on a day I drive my daughters to a public
beach, its park is closed and its swings are tied up
in chain-link knots. The only parking spot
left is next to one taken by a minivan. Its blue
bumper sticker says Save America. Our walk
to the shore is an obstacle course of rocks. The air
has the scent of salt. I inhale and exhale the rhythm
of the waves until a stranger hands me a plastic
card advertising Easter services. I say no thank you
but they keep talking. As I explain to my daughters
you do not have to accept everything you are given
I remember the last time I tasted salvation,
inside the pastel bite of birthday cake.
It occurs to me that maybe I’m not depressed,
that maybe I can finally listen to the sea,
that I can finally see the world is on fire.

The phrase “Slouches towards Bethlehem” appears in the last line
of W.B. Yeats’ poem “The Second Coming”

Read more from Issue No. 33 or share on Twitter.