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The Night of No Airplanes

We walk out into the light dark of the evening,
My son and I, so many times before

Having walked here, so many years and reasons.
The steps are easy and not many.

We stand by the ash tree, which has not grown
In the ten years since we planted it.

The tree is sickly, I suppose, and still
It is what I have sometimes wished onto my son—

That he might have stayed
All the ways I have known him, that baby,

That boy, that young man shaving in the bathroom.
But the tree is a good reminder, having no more leaves

Than it ever had, no more of anything. Together,
Our job tonight is not the tree, but to look up,

To look for airplanes tonight,
Our own ancient practice, my son and I,

A night that has been reported in the news
As not having any.

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Alberto Ríos is the recipient of the Western Literature Association Distinguished Achievement Award, the Arizona Governor’s Arts Award, fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation and the National Endowment for the Arts, the Walt Whitman Award, the Western States Book Award for Fiction, six Pushcart Prizes in both poetry and fiction, and inclusion in The Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry, as well as over 200 other national and international literary anthologies. His work is regularly taught and translated, and has been adapted to dance and both classical and popular music.

Links
Ríos's Website
Poets.org Spotlight
Interview
The Theater of Night
Book Orders