Tonight the Neighbors Spell JESUS on Their Lawn in Christmas Lights
by Carrie Fountain
Walking by tonight, we’re reminded
there must’ve been a first time
for everything–one green shoot, a drop
of bluish water, a few red cells.
The letters wink at us as if they know
what they’re for, and we go by, saying
“Oh God, look at that,” as if we did, too.
Mornings, the lights are left on
to call very palely to the large,
uninterested sky. “We are all alone,”
they cry. And the sky answers back
by not moving an inch.
-From her latest book, Burn Lake