you stopped singing.

Cloudless blue. We are a privileged

family to view our sky kiss

high-quality bombs. I am a good

mother. I know this. I do not need

your promise, little bird. They call it

devastation. Greatest devastation

in the world. My son is not devastated.

My son on my lap, they test the atomic bomb.

My son leans into my chest, dull

from the summer heat. Half-eaten apple.

It’s all we’ll talk about, the bomb,

the bombs, at the grocery store,

at church. Until we speak of, once

more, the weather. Sparrow, I think

we forgot.