Thunder calls me from the dishes

Thunder calls me from the dishes

               last night’s arguments dissolving in bubbles

to the door. Open it: the world comes alive.

Silver sky, wet earth, the great pause as the heat breaks.

The leaves fidget, the dog fidgets, the baby fidgets in sleep.

Then a ripple across the sky. I close my eyes and there is nothing

but tree and sky fading to black in half lives.

 

(Originally published in The Year of Our Beautiful Exile, Gaspereau Press, 2015)