Poem: Most of what I wish to know

I’ve debunked 9-11 conspiracies in Quebec

Thrown up clams all over Stockholm streets.

I’ve got firsthand experience burying parents

Custody battles to rival Norse sagas

Talking friends off of highway bridges

And other accidental bad trips.

Like my journalist father, I’ve gone wherever the story led,

Like my artist mother, I’ve creative directed

The bad moments, churning them into cathartic butter.

Most of what I know, I had no wish to know.

Here’s what I wish to know

(without googling, as that’s cheating):

How come on a sweltering evening,

When the heavy blanket sky with pinhole-sized diamonds,

Is the only light allowing you to take photos of my silhouette

And our daughter’s in her room, sleeping peaceful in the fetal,

When the nightmares of experience have receded into

The storybook forest behind our house—how come

The fireflies decide to sync their blinking,

And what it all means, if anything.