In the Midst of Storms
The family tree leaves branches everywhere.
Kittens carry twigs between their teeth,
lose them inside the couch like living things.
Even the cushions are sown with sticks.
I pull acorns from behind the dogs’ ears.
The kids think it’s a neat trick, but don’t like
the roots in their beds, the way wood steals
blankets and groans in its sleep.
A black widow tats doilies across
my husband’s eyes. Blind, he seeds
marigolds in the kitchen cupboards,
waters the plates and cups.
After dark, the swamp moves closer, while snags
exhale their poison breaths. Alligators
climb the porch steps holding my
mother-in-law’s voice between their toes.
The heat is everywhere. Morning
glories close their faces to the fences.
The waning moon becomes a ring
forgotten in the dresser of the sky.
In the leaving, you can’t tell which limbs
are strong enough to hold you. My lover plants
his hands in my hair. To save things,
you have to pull them out by the roots.
Kiss kiss bang bang, s.
Originally published in Eclectica.
PS — The gathering real storm? Please. -won’t even mention how grumbly this ad makes her-
See what the Human Rights Campaign has to say about it all.