You Can’t See It But It’s There
I’m not talking the magnetosphere or God
or seeds waiting in the frozen soil
or medicine careening through my bloodstream.
I’m talking pottery glaze to a seven-year-old.
She’s chosen a pretty pale pink to paint a ceramic pig
with a slightly less pale pink for its nose and ears.
Her concentration is enviable as she brushes
nearly invisible glaze over the little round body
By the time I explain it will turn out pink, for real,
she’s using a hairlike brush to add tiny black eyes
and hooves. I worry. Will she be disappointed?
Has my parking meter expired? Is democracy ending?
When I pick up the kiln-fired pig its glossy perfect pink testifies
to her faith. The way people singing, marching, standing up
for their neighbors in this perilous time does mine.
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Laura Grace Weldon lives in a township too tiny for traffic lights where she works as a book editor, leads writing workshops, serves as Braided Way editor, and chronically maxes out her library card. Laura is the author of four books and was Ohio’s 2019 Poet of the Year. Her background includes teaching nonviolence, writing poetry with nursing home residents, facilitating support groups for abuse survivors, and writing sardonic greeting cards. Laura lives on a small Ohio homestead where she and her husband host occasional art parties and house concerts. lauragraceweldon.com