The Golden Underground

The Distance from Here to There

36  The Distance from Here to There Children dig in their sandbox like backhoes before their dump trucks, in their canary yellow peaceful arrays, black wheels knobby as sneakers plow their way through like the ladybug over my keyboard. The past and present ally themselves as silicates, crystalline before November sun, the hoods of children drooping somberly, the slant of light leaning serenely over freeze-dried leaves: the most golden brown imaginable, like buttered skins upon their tins. Beneath their hoods are the faces of determined workers, as their monitors watch over with stork-like proclivity—an astronomer plotting the parallax between red plastic hoe and yellow metallic vehicle, a poet well aware of the living circle of lives amidst the glowing circles glinting off of silicates. And I am at the fence, where a leaf has been caught in the diamond mesh—right angles of steel bearing childrens’ approximations of stars. ...