The World through Glass

Angela Costi

                                        i.m of Baba, 1936-2023

the room was dark except for the monitor

tracking his heart and breath

he was talking then

asked    how was America?

I brought my chair close to his bed

showed him my phone’s album

car   bus   train   views of Wisconsin’s thick

green layers    rich land    they kill each other for it

my view of a Tucson garden

flowering with Saguaro

cacti    they will kill you

my view from a Minnesota townhouse

of a mountain

of snow    if you fall in it

it will kill you    my view

of a little monument

piercing a cloud

from the thirty-fourth floor

of a Washington hotel

lucky you didn’t get dizzy

and fall

                                         when his eyes climb into part of him

                                         that could be safe

                                         the monitor stops its steady chime

                                         becomes a racket of shards