We gather together
on the 8th floor
rooftop garden
as twilight gathers
her dusky robes
around her
and we pull jackets
a little closer, wait.
Some plant I can’t name
sweetens
the evening,
softens the darkness
as we hold our children
on our laps
or prop them up
on benches
or the chairs we’ve
wheeled from their
rooms. Each child
brings their tree
with them
and we watch
fireworks
through the gaps &
crannies of tubing,
metal, bags of chemicals
slow dripping
into their hearts.
Bursts of color
in the distance
elicit soft oohs
and ahhs from our
sleepy mouths.
It’s past bedtime,
but we stay
as long as we can manage,
till the pump alarms
begin to beep
or eyes begin to sag,
and we walk or wheel
our drugged kids
indoors
to the calm
of scrubbed rooms
and dim lights
and beds that will
hold them
perhaps one more night
or two
before releasing them
home
like sparks
into the long waiting
night
