Go read the poem “Good Bones” by Maggie Smith, from Waxwing magazine. I don’t know anything about this poet and I don’t know who sent me the link or where I saw it. But it’s amazing.
That ending, about raising children to be optimistic about the world the same way a realtor tries to sell you on a damaged building with good bones…
I don’t know how parents do it. I really don’t. I am barely optimistic enough about the future to bother investing in a new roof.
Secretly Ironic 