At the End of a Rainbow

Ezra and Quinn, starved
for attention, dance 
on chairs huddled near
the counter where
I slice carrots 
into crisp circles.
The knife cuts quickly
through the tense tissue.
Ezra snatches a carrot 
and pops it into his mouth.
I snap like a bear trap.
Quinn laughs and grabs
his own carrot.
I growl.
A bear rises through me.
Ezra and Quinn scatter
like butterflies in a storm.
I scowl and chew the leg
mangled in my trap.
Sunlight splashes
through the bay window
washing the walls 
with the edge of day.
The crystal prisms, 
hanging in the window,
have been dark all winter.
Suddenly, they catch bits of light
like hands lifting water
from a well, and scatter
them; a priest casting 
a blessing across the kitchen walls.
Ezra dances back,
hands held high,
his face covered in delight.
“Daddy, look!
Rainbows in my hands.”
I kneel, take his hands in mine;
red, yellow and blue shimmer
our palms washing the mundane
momentarily from my life.

(circa 1990-1994, probably closer to 94, from If This is a Comedy, Then Why Aren’t I Laughing)

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