For Ann Hodges

Three states away from where Ann sleeps draped in quilts her mother sewed

the farmer witnesses a red light streak across the sky. Roman candle trailing smoke,

gigantic welding arc. The distance between them accordions.

A hole burned in the ceiling, a searing pain where her husband places his hand

while making love. The radio whines, dust clouds the room, and Ann, is awoken

from a dream of wild horses. She spies a smoking rock on the floor. The Big Bang

come to Earth. Some will explain with God, others trigonometry.

Speed equals distance divided by the time it takes Ann to travel to a hospital.

The space rock is taken to a lab, where it’s confirmed this miracle has nothing

to do with little green men, or the Soviet rockets school children hide from

beneath desks in this Atomic Age. Later, the beholden farmer, having heard Ann’s story,

finds another shooting star half-buried in his cow pasture.

Fragment of solar

nebula. His children say

the sky is falling.