Stations in the Multiverse

A world exists as close as your next breath,
Where a baby’s cries are met with tired laughter and
Hushed lullaby mumbles.
Where every step glitters with magic, and
The rising sun surprises a forest
With saffron pools of delight.
Our necessary work is
Mending and building and lifting and
Joining and healing, and
At the end of the day,
My strong body smells of
Honest sweat.
You laugh, and tell me to take a shower, and
When I emerge, new-minted, glistening in the
Comfortable kitchen light,
You ask (knowing the answer, always, always)
If I would kindly be your sous-chef.
I found these mangos at the market, you say,
And they’re as soft and round as an
Unexpected kiss.

But this morning, the
Dopamine box rattles with a billionaire’s
Laughter, and the hollow shape of where you aren’t
Stabs me in the throat.
I claw my riven boulder head awake.
Impossibly far away, a toddler screams in the smoking rubble.
The sharp-edged sun boils an ancient ocean of
Bitter tea.
I wade through the surprising thicket of unpaid bills, and
My job this always morning is racing the Red Queen
Through the lying plastic strip malls that grind at
The heart of the world with their insatiable shiny teeth.
A dead-eyed mother waits (standing, always standing)
For a rusted train on shredded tracks that will never arrive.
My skin sighs blistered dreams in
Drifts of desiccated leaves and I wonder:
Why can’t I
Breathe?