A SHORT HISTORY OF LIGHT 

1. 

A student in my third grade gym class
told me my birthday fell  

on the anniversary of his uncle’s suicide.  

Then he made a gun with his tiny fingers
and turned it on himself.  

I wanted to tell him his ­uncle woke up
that morning with a cloud in his head.  

That he blew a hole through his roof
to return it to the sky.  

I wanted to tell him some ­people
aren’t given enough light
so they’ll try anything to let in more sun.  

That some days I wish I could open
my wrists like windows.  

Instead I whispered, You don’t have to run
laps for warm-up, and at recess the sun is yours.