It's full moon here. Saturn and Jupiter line up across the tropical sky and we wait. Our eyes focus and the sky becomes a color after all.
It is April, and you are the friend I most long for. My students line up in their sad rows of chairs and no longer move me, our little country of unhappiness exploding over and over. Last night I trailed a bottle of Tick Tack down Paseo Escalón, the red label fluorescent in the bright dark of our altitude.
What is the savior of the world doing among these wire fences, in all this broken glass? If the street were a sky, glass would glitter like stars, a thousand broken pieces along the curb. The planets would swing on their startled orbits, the earth, a heavy fist of heart, turn blue as death, flexing its chambers of love and sorrow, easing its way into some stone hand of God.
--Janet McAdams
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