by Patricia Davis
On the one hand we’ve got Phandalin
a fantasy mining town besieged by dragons.
We are trying to learn the rules at the dining room table—
attributes, quests, etc. Then we move on
to real life, sitting in front of the fire,
exploring the properties of air on sparks.
Then Anna goes to bed
and I check Twitter for #MartialLaw
just like every night for the past two
months. Half of America
(or a tenth of America and an industrious
factory of Russian bots) clamor for their rights
to be doused. Choose your adventure.
They implore the president to JUST DO IT
Do Martial Law. Save the Republic.
The only real thing is the fire
crackling on dry logs,
my daughter stretched out
with our remaining cat,
telling me the plot of her story—
how can four teenagers escape after creating
a distraction? One a light wielder, one a wielder
of shadows, one a wielder of time, one of frost
and a mindreader and telekinetic.
I tell her how powerful they are.
Of course they can rescue the captured one.
Of course they can escape.
Patricia Davis’ poetry has appeared in Poet Lore, The New Verse News, Smartish Pace, Third Coast, The Atlanta Review, Salt Hill, Crab Creek Review, and other journals and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She has an MFA from American University, where she was a Lannan Fellow. She is currently translations editor for Poet Lore.
