Authors:
  • My son called to me that God was inside his red fire engine. He wanted to show me. I did move as fast as I could, spilling like water through the kitchen door into a summer day, but God had left by the time I got there. My son smiled, told me I'd missed him by seconds.

    Deborah Keenan (2011). “Willow Room, Green Door: New and Selected Poems”, p.85, Milkweed Editions