Theory of Mind
Night begins at its earliest now. By four o’clock,
I’m wandering through my house, turning
lamps on, filling every room with light, but only
once the house is too full to see through
the windows whatever stars are shining,
and moon, do I remember the Geminids
Amber described this morning…that they will reach
their annual crescendo some time before
midnight. So, I have to pull on my boots
again, go outside, try to find the darkest corner
in my yard, since the city casts high, yellow ceilings
overhead—and even there, craning my neck,
I only pretend to see what Amber witnessed while driving
to Utica from Remsen, a small village in the country
where you can see stars—those meteors,
speeding down, first two, then five, then dozens…
She must have watched them while trying to follow
the road, and thought about her daughters, both
still in bed, their father waking, stoking
fire in the wood stove, adding dry logs, starting breakfast…
And it would have been good to be there, good
to carry the girls outside, wrapped in blankets, cold,
sleepy enough to be unsure of what was happening…surprised
how the sky ripens its fruit…how its acorns drop
as though a storm had shaken the branches of an oak…
or some animal had jostled a weak limb,
making the canopy of black leaves tremble,
showering down this windfall of light…
She must have wished she could see the darkness
change for them as their imaginations worked…
learning how not to put all their trust in five senses…
that we can feel beyond what our fingers touch,
though our own thoughts usually get in the way,
and we have to go out from the small circle of illumination
that constrains us, if we don’t want to be alone.
William Welch lives in Utica, New York, where he works as a registered nurse. His poetry has appeared in various journals, including Little Patuxent Review, Stone Canoe, Rust+Moth, and Cider Press Review, and his collection Adding Saffron is forthcoming in 2024 from Finishing Line Press. He edits Doubly Mad (doublymad.org). Find more about him on his website, williamfwelch.com.
SLANT 