Before and After
We're arguing in the kitchen. The weather should break soon. All the windows are wide open, we're both aware.
Come on, we've had this fight, I say. Where does it end?
You watch me as if it's a trick. I'm drawing a blank. Where does it end?
*
Waiting for the storm, I can't move. Words pile on words overhead, pewter and pressing.
Thunder growls late afternoon. We herd cats, wind in the parasol.
Your eyes are on the downpour. I think you were right to shelter the saplings under the table.
*
When the sun blazes through the drenched glass, I soar. Is this cliché? Is the sense of being spared an artless wonder?
*
All immersed in one of my books, you look up. Babe, if you die before me, I'll go feral. I won't cope. Just to let you know, that's where it ends.