It happened on the day
when snowy crickets
announced the temperature of rising sun.
It really happened!
Children. Ceased. All. Fighting.
I sneaked through silent house
sniffing the air for burning scraps of food.
Listening in if they were watching
a forbidden movie.
I stepped outside, exhaled relief in uncertain puffs,
and plopped myself below the praying mantes
that swing in pairs on little bluestem.
Some clouds were floating through low autumn sky.
Then, suddenly, one screamed:
“I need more space! I was here first!”
“No! I! I! I need more space!”
“You scraped me first!”
“Wrong! Move! My turn!”
“I am in better shape!”, screamed the other.
Observing such unusual commotion,
blue heavens smiled. Stretched. Lengthened.
Widened. Creaked. Burst. Flowed.
Spilled over its ancient rippled edges,
widened the angles of the rainbows,
sent in the gusts to reshape the forms,
to switch them, change them, rearrange them.
I rushed into the house,
my breath still trailing far behind:
“You would not believe!….”
“She took last cookie and she won’t share!”
“He ate mine!”
I stared into the cookie’s drippy eyes of chocolate,
and felt the sky in my fingertips slowly stretching.
Creaking. Spilling, from the center out.
And that is how I grew to learn:
All is right with the world.