I know I need to cut it somewhere. I'm open to any changes, of course. I'm after a good poem. Thank you.
Early that morning,
he’d worked on lines from a play.
The hotel in Chicago
became his universe and the people
beyond it, minor planets spinning,
heading for their own luck.
I stayed separate and silent,
giving my son space to prepare
for his hour
when he would be questioned,
judged, chosen or rejected.
Anxious, he had to walk,
distract, take a break, somewhat like
pigeons in the park.
We heard church bells
as we walked long blocks
into the February wind
to department stores
and café where we
people-watched
and kept eyes on a clock.
Sitting there, we grew
aware of blotches of gray ash
on the center of foreheads—
shoppers, clerks, waitresses.
Like spectators in an audience,
we listened to the people
who seemed holy,
wearing Ash Wednesday.
Before the Audition
Early that morning,
he’d worked on lines from a play.
The hotel in Chicago
became his universe and the people
beyond it, minor planets spinning,
heading for their own luck.
I stayed separate and silent,
giving my son space to prepare
for his hour
when he would be questioned,
judged, chosen or rejected.
Anxious, he had to walk,
distract, take a break, somewhat like
pigeons in the park.
We heard church bells
as we walked long blocks
into the February wind
to department stores
and café where we
people-watched
and kept eyes on a clock.
Sitting there, we grew
aware of blotches of gray ash
on the center of foreheads—
shoppers, clerks, waitresses.
Like spectators in an audience,
we listened to the people
who seemed holy,
wearing Ash Wednesday.