MANNA

Heavy rain was a blessing for this poor country kid.
Sure, it helped daddy with his crops, but it helped me more:
When the rain would subside and the creek would return
to its banks, there was usually treasure to be found:

Plastic cars and airplanes, rubber balls, a Hula Hoop,
and once even a good-as-new Louisville Slugger - fun stuff
from the better-off kids upstream, the ones who had
so many toys that they’d abandon some at streamside.

So God would punish the ungrateful and reward me.
And I, in turn, would play with my new toys until they
broke or I outgrew them, which is when I would
get on my knees and pray for another gullywasher.



FALLING STARS

for Angie

It’s 4 a.m., and we’re both sitting
on the floor of the nursery,
each of us feeding one of the twins
while a plastic, ladybug-shaped toy
projects hundreds of stars
and a crescent moon overhead;
our own galaxy, population: four.

Though these faux suns are fixed
in their positions, I still hope
for a shooting star or a comet
to cross these imaginary heavens,
some sign that, for our babies,
the world will be beautiful, kind
and full of wonderful surprises
that pour from the sky,
real or otherwise.



Steve Kissing is the author of a childhood memoir, RUNNING FROM THE DEVIL (Crossroad Books, 2003), and is a contributing editor at CINCINNATI MAGAZINE.