Tonight

Theresa Williams

In the pond last spring,
a lone bluegill swam
among minnows.

::

Tonight the dog
lets out a low moan.
Sssh, it’s only the roof leaking.

::

Rainy tires
swish on Highway 6.
I have nowhere to go.

::

Remember the book
about insects, parents & god.

::

Outside on the bush,
a clump of blackberries
birds never found.

::

On my chair
a dead moth in tattered coat.

::

Dark cupcake
cools
on white napkin.

::

Wild things sleep
this rainy night
in a temple of weeds.

::

Is the mantis cold
in its cocoon
on the bare stalk?

::

More wood on the fire!
Oh, my hair smells of smoke.

::

Living & dying are one.
All is one.

::

Charred bones from
the trash pit
fashioned into chimes.
—click, click, click—

::

You can still sing
even if you can’t carry a tune.

::

Outside—
Dogprints in the mud.
How lucky.

::

We are the eyes
of the world.

::

Your bed is waiting.

::

What is in your pocket,
Antonio Machado.
Forgive me,
haven’t read you in so long.

:::