Last Saturday Night

a poem

I write poetry so very rarely, but this one poured out during the LA fires a few weeks ago.

—-

Last Saturday night

the Riveras had their best friends over

to eat spaghetti because Mary Rivera has been

feeling a little sad about losing her mother

last spring and Betty wanted to cheer her up.

The four friends played

Yatzee because Ben loves it

and they indulge him and he plays Catan when they ask.

At ten, the Wilsons walked home, remarking

on the quiet.

Venus, or maybe it was Mars,

hung there over the Pacific, barely shining

on the endless waters.

Last Saturday night,

Sarah Sanderson finished her essay

and turned off her desk light

then went downstairs to

eat an apple, standing at the breakfast bar

one foot over the other,

talking to her mother as she finished loading the dishwasher

which was new and quiet as a whisper.

Sarah turned off the light, leaving the soft glow

of pale green toe-kicks beneath the counter

and followed her mother into the family room

where they curled up under the blankets

they brought back from Ireland and watched

the Gilmore Girls, the cat curled up between them.

Last Saturday night, Jon Yan arrived home late

after a baby shower for a woman from yoga.

The children were asleep, his husband, too,

his mouth open as he snored on the sofa,

a book open on his belly. Jon put away

the milk,

the blueberries he would make into pancakes

in the morning, and the fancy high protein milk

he knew was too expensive.

A pile of mail and school papers and things that probably

needed signing

were piled on the counter, but he ignored them to

fill the kettle that lit up a soft blue while it boiled.

From the mugs lined up

on the little shelf he’d hung just for this, he selected his favorite

blue mug, and chose lavender over peppermint.

He carried it into his studio and blew on the tea as he looked toward

the backyard, the network of stars peeking through branches.

Over the fence, he saw his neighbor talking

on the phone, laughing.

Somewhere, an owl hooted.

In the distance, the Santa Ana winds stirred.