By Jeannie Greensfelder
Ready for tea I turn on the gas burner.
Staring at its tidy, twenty-eight blue points,
I glimpse the twig fire of my forebears.
I imagine amazing them with my stove,
running water, packaged food, and wonder
how long till they’d be stressed like me.
I would ask them to teach me the night sky,
help launch my circadian rhythms,
and shake me till I come to my senses.