Remember when a gun
got found
in a kid’s backpack
at our daughter’s
elementary school.
As soon as she breathed
back home, I sped over
to feel her heartbeat
vibrate
through my paternal palm.
In a no-sleep dawn,
I hunted for sunrise fear
with my eyes as guns.
Down Telegraph’s sidewalk hello,
I needed to place a petal
into the loaded barrel
of my cerulean sight.
When I hunted for sunset joy
with my eyes as seeds,
I spotted a California wild rose
blooming within our grass
and concrete neighborhood.