In Highland Park, dark as night this morning,
we see a fox, his tail straight out like a rudder
in water. He then sees us, and steals
away—into the pines.
At the Goodman-Pinetum bus stop,
a young woman, wearing a brown nylon
backpack, waits, one hand on the stroller
holding her toddler, while her
older child boards the school
bus, perhaps for the first time.
After waving goodbye, she
pushes the stroller up the
steep hill through Colgate
Rochester Divinity School.
I wonder if she’d want to know—
or rather not know—about the
fox we saw only 100 yards from
her and her children just now.
Back on our street,
two houses before ours,
Emma and Julia must be
getting ready for school.
In a still-dark house, one closet
light is on, displaying an array
of little girl dresses, cleaned
and pressed and fresh.