The Cedarville Review 2020

POETRY | 17 Leaning over heavenly rails, beaming, peanut butter wind pools in His chest, even as his son hides his face— waiting for stones. Leaping across roller coaster crosswalks, frantic, quicksand breath crams His throat, all to catch a kid— dancing in traffic. Giggling through clocklike pages, peaceful, earthquake laughs shake through His breast, rereading the story of one of his favorite characters. THE FATHER I HOPE TO HAVE GRIFFIN MESSER