The first life lesson

arrives unexpected

unasked for

and unknown

to these tiny new

humans:

why does the ride

have to

end?

They cannot even

ask the question

being pre-speech

beings

living on

pure

sensory

input

integration

digestion

and

overload

but they know

to react

in horror

when the Wurlitzer

stops

when they’re being

taken away

when they point

and scream

a kind of crying panicked pleading

a desperation

a sudden void

where there

had been such

joy.

Why does the ride have to end?

Why do we have to get off?

Why does the music stop?

False answers offer

distraction

from the sudden

subtraction:

we have to make room for others to ride

or time for donuts pizza the park the party

Grandma’s house to see Santa or the parade

or because they’re closing see the operator’s

sweeping the animals will soon be sleeping

but none of these

answers

have any

effect

there is

only

the absence now

that must

be filled

again

a space where

there had been

such a something

so unknown til now

so needed

and the cries and tears

the thrashing and

pounding on shoulders

fighting the stroller

or the backpack

trying to get the message across

begging for some answer

to a question barely born in

one so young:

why does the ride have to end?

From Of the Carousel, The Poet’s Press, 2019