I drive by this image 4 times a week, it marks me more each time I do. Yesterday I heard Firestarter by Tess Gallagher, a local poet. My younger son cried last night, I was frustrated until I noticed how small he looked in that big crib of his. Are we pesky at best until someone sees us with different eyes? "There's a blaze of light in every word, it does not matter which you heard- the broken or the holy..."
