On the days when despair hits,
the cardinal lands on the patio table.
A brilliant red glimmer
before alighting back into the day,
and this is what it is like
to be a person,
the first one awake in their house,
while their loved ones rest,
and the news of a tsunami and
mass shootings and starvation
hang in the air.

But last night, the stars,
when I stood alone on the patio
waiting for the meteor shower
that never came,
the night too light
for mystery,
the day too dark
for reality.

G-d, where are you now?
But I already know,
in twinkling lights,
atoms held together
by their own gravity
and red feathers that hold
messages from ancestors,
and here, where my daughter
praises you by writing your name
alongside ours in her thank you jar.