Amorak Huey

If when the questioners come for you
you’re watching Baywatch with the sound off,
not for the flesh
but for the sand,
the saltwater –

if they hold your lifetime against you,
your skills, your strong hands –

if your grandson inherited your knack with a wrench
but not your fear of loss –

if his anger is of his own making, his unmaking –

if you imagine he is a starling flown into an airport terminal:
by its nature a temporary place,
but offering to the bird
no escape once entered –

if you run out of words
for disappearance, for blame

if they send you home to find
the front door swung open,
every bulb left blazing –

so much light, so very like a prayer.

Amorak Huey, a longtime newspaper reporter and editor, teaches writing at Grand Valley State University in Michigan. His poems appear in The Best American Poetry 2012, The Cincinnati Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Bat City Review, Rattle, and others. Follow him on Twitter: @amorak.