Spell by Cindy Veach

When is leaving justified?

One-part eggshell to two-parts love?

Two-parts eggshell to one-part love?

 

None of the above?

My head is full of noise.

My head is a hung jury.

 

My head is a congregation

seated on hard wood benches

while outside the Chinese maple

 

is on fire and worth a sidelong glance.

Who can resist? The urge,

irresistible—

 

I cast my eyes knowing

I could not look back.

Those leaves escaping

 

the tree, sparking the air

made me think of lightning bugs

when I hadn’t thought

 

of lightning bugs

since Bloomington

since the rental on Bender Road.

 

I raced my sisters

across that dark yard.

I wanted to capture

 

all the light.

It wasn’t a secret.

There were people

 

who drove down our road at night

to dump unwanted puppies

from car windows.

 

How could they do that?

And yet.

How could I?

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Cindy Veach is the author of Gloved Against Blood (CavanKerry Press). Her poetry has appeared in the Academy of American Poets’ Poem-a-Day, AGNI, Prairie Schooner, Poet Lore, Michigan Quarterly Review, The Journal, North American Review, Salamander and elsewhere. She directs fundraising programs for nonprofit organizations and lives in Manchester-by-the-Sea, Massachusetts.