The Nest
On a screen sky-wide, the guns
roared and handsome Anthony Quinn
fought smoky battles in a foreign land,
an island perhaps, but not Long Island.
And a woman, too, my mother said
she was up to no good. Maybe
there were bright stars and ocean,
but all I saw were rows of station
wagons and dads carrying popcorn.
My big brother and I, in soft pajamas,
matched as Superman and Supergirl,
in the rear of our white Oldsmobile,
back seats down. We ate movie candy,
glowing colored Dots, forbidden save for
movie-days and drive-in nights.
As we got sugar-sleepy, my father
leaned over to kiss my young mother,
beautiful as movie stars.
Back then, they still danced together.
My dark-eyed brother, my god
he was sweet, smiled and I thought,
this must be heaven—the four of us
in our shining white station wagon,
with all the other cars and families.
The war was far away.



