Spectacle

On sad days we'd go
to the planetarium.

We'd put on that
helmet of stars

and hardly anything
falling could hurt us.

Habitat

The gods ran
back and forth

between
our houses—

like those dogs
who pretend

no one
has fed them.

Why

Why, she keeps
asking, because

she is three
and still

believes
there are reasons.

John Doe
Poet, Independent Writer
IN CONVERSATION WITH
Andrea Cohen