by Laura Grace Weldon
In-between ever-worsening news I see flashes
bright as the best tomorrow. Thousands standing in
subzero cold singing outside a detention center.
Neighbors, arms linked, protecting parents and children
at school start and dismissal time. Faith leaders from every
denomination kneeling in silence at an airport
where people are forcibly unwoven from their ties.
Dr. Esposito informed me the golden arcs of light I see
at night are not, as my tired mind imagines, divine sparks.
Instead it is my vitreous humor weakening,
pulling away from the retina. Sometimes, sleepless,
watching gold rings zing everywhere
I sense the known world tipping, possibility overflowing.
How beautiful the response to destruction can be.
Laura Grace Weldon lives in a township too tiny for traffic lights where she works as a book editor, teaches writing workshops, serves as Braided Way editor, and chronically maxes out her library card. Laura was Ohio’s 2019 Poet of the Year and is the author of four books.
January House Literary Journal 
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