Seeking Solace

It's not in my room, a la the Beach Boys

nor in the sounds of silence, per Simon
and Garfunkel. I've sought peace in poetry,

but was jangled by bell jars, riddled by ball
turret gunners, angered by cruel April,
buzzed by dying flies. I've looked to the past,

where my ancestral DNA supposedly
could give 23andMe advice, but cobwebs
clouded my genetically cataract eyesight.

I've walked trails to commune with birdsong,
to find comfort in cala lilies perfuming the skies.
I've hummed meditative oms, sunk depths in scuba gear, 

and heard winds whistling past me as I sky dove
to find moments of escape. All failed. My only best source
of solace has been the future, not arrived at DeLorean-driven 

or by H.G. Wellsian time travel but through the eyes
of my children, birthday candles flickering reflection,
my children at recess where kindergarteners rush 

to the aid of a fallen five-year-old, where they hand
balls back when kicked askew, never withholding
the prize out of spite, where they line up without 

aggressively pushing to secure territoriality as if space
can be possessed, where they play, listen, learn, and
respect differences, never shunning the spectrum-kid, 

never asking who’s blue or red, pro or con, always accepting
the immigrant, the bespectacled, the weight-challenged, the slow.
I see in them a future, hope, and I’m comforted.