Exploratorium

With a group as large as ours,
Not everyone would delight in a science
And discovery museum
To the same extent.

One son, apparently, loved it,
Though I saw him not at all.

I watched one son go from one exhibit to the next
With intentional focus, almost tunnel vision.
He was going to see and learn everything he could,
And when we left four hours later,
He wished he could go back
The next day.

One son loved anything sand:
Regular sand, magnet filings, sand on a turntable.
And he loved to be with his cousin.

One son slept through as much as he could.
It was loud, and chaotic, and busy,
All things that could be said of our home.
But this was more so, and different.

And I was with my artist.
Tired already, he was overstimulated quickly.
But there were moments of great beauty.
We found a room to dance in,
While a computer program showed our movements
In color and stop motion and beautiful light.
We were alone and entranced.

Or the giant bubble maker,
Where we could make a sheet of bubbles
Three feet by five feet, glistening, iridescent.
Gentle blowing deformed it a bit,
A cone-shaped impression.
Then my son blew just right, and an enormous bubble
Split off, the only one we saw by anyone He was pleased.

He figured out how to make the visit work for him,
Sitting at a picture window to watch sailboats on the Bay,
Rather than watching a cow’s eyeball dissection.
I think, though, he found the most joy when we went outside
And I sat in a rocking chair and he chased the pigeons
With abandon and a wicked grin.