I’ve known earthquakes in my home
pots being thrown, plates crashing into
one another, drapes closing
in the afternoon.
I’ve felt the boom! boom!
above my bed,
and watched my dolls shake
their heads.
I don’t know what it must have felt like,
afterwards,
what she must have felt.
I never got to see her
exhausted
mess
on
the
floor.
Still
I lay there
waiting
for something to happen,
or change–
for her to come and get me
so I could hold her.
Sherri Levine is an award-winning poet who lives in Oregon and teaches English to adult immigrants and refugees at Portland Community College. Levine’s work has been published in the Timberline Review, the Hartskill Review, VoiceCatcher, and The Sun Magazine. She left New York’s harsh winters for the Pacific Northwest where she walks in the rain without her umbrella.
Hello Readers, You know how it is when you focus on something like maybe your…
Portrait of Emily She sits in the bedroom window like curtains, whitely gazing down at…
Underground Gardens Legend was, After a quarrel with his father, He left Sicily behind And…
Their fair share We turn at the band stand because you say it’s getting dark.…