Toss Two Gulls

I saw the sky toss two gulls
over my head before the dog came loping in.
Then there was a pause
long enough to do the dishes and the ironing
but the TV had to go off
and the AC just in case
when they started tearing the cover off the sky.

She cried, something that startled me,
and you cradled her,
and even the older one read wide-eyed
while I smiled and retold the story
about a noisy coffee grinder and an infant
hiding her head between my feet. 

I think it was the ripping sound that scared us most; 
the thought that lightning that loud might rend us, 
might tear our home asunder. 
When the storm had walked slowly, muttering, out to sea
we went upstairs, complaining about the heat
and listening to the rain, to watch some more TV together.
And the dog lay on his bed, wondering
and forgetting.

June 27 2013

Missing Bella

Nothing emptier
than a lawn without the dog
that used to lie there.

June 11 2013

Hurricane Season

The trees were trying to run away.
Above the neighbor's rooftop they bent
but couldn't flee. They were workmanlike,
bent on leafing, not expecting this early onslaught,
and the way they washed the evening
with their rushing protest proved it.
From where I sat on the cooling deck
it seemed that hurricane season was obsessively literal
and though the wind brought blessed change,
I wondered with a wary eye whether hurrying branches
might break away and cut my season short;
no need for that new propane now
or to worry about wasps starting troublesome homes
in the grill, or the worn umbrella.

June 3 2013