At home, we keep my father from the news. The news addles his mind. Our doctor says she tells all her patients to turn off their screens, to consider knitting or meditation instead. She has experienced the mind’s slow pull toward oblivion. My father fears economic collapse. He would feel more comfortable if I would only withdraw $200,000 in cash—just to have on hand. I thought the end would need more bright angels in chariots, a sudden bloom of locust in the tap water, but no. The light each morning is the same. When I sleep, I sleep fitfully each hour opening an eye to check for the sun’s slow rise over the neighbor's lawn. Alone, I resume a documentary about space. There is an urgent search for another planet just like Earth. It’s very possible, scientists say. A PhD in Hawaii demonstrates centrifugal force with her fire fan. On the International Space Station, Astronauts see sixteen sunsets and sunrises in one human day. Imagine the abundance. You could begin again.
Megan Pinto's poems can be found or are forthcoming in Ploughshares, Lit Hub, Plume, and elsewhere. She has received scholarships and fellowships from Bread Loaf, Martha's Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing, the Port Townsend Writers' Conference, and an Amy Award from Poets & Writers. Megan holds an MFA in Poetry from Warren Wilson.
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