Is this a good day? What is
a good day? I think
this is a good day. I do not know,
and I am sad that my son has a mother
who can look at the blue sky
shattered between orange leaves
and feel not knowing.
We are driving home from the apple orchard.
As far as I could tell, no one whispered
behind our backs. No one eyed
him as he stimmed. Did he stim?
He probably stimmed.
I do not remember,
and that not remembering is like a good day.
Is he singing? I turn
the volume down slowly
as if he is a squirrel and I could
frighten him away with my listening.
“It is a song about how bright a glow,” he announces.
“It glows bigger than giants.”
Is he singing about the sun, the stars,
It’s hard to tell, no way to know.
Or is he singing about himself?
I know what I hope.
He stares out the window,
his finger pressed to the glass, singing,
“It glows on and on and on.”
Sherine Gilmour has an MFA from NYU. Her work has been nominated for Best New Poets, Best of the Net, and for a Pushcart Prize. Her poetry, essays, and nonfiction have been published or are forthcoming from Cleaver, Entropy, Redivider, Salamander, So To Speak, Third Coast, and other publications.