February 13, 2025Year Six
The horizon rebuffed
our hopes.
She stopped going outside.
Her bedroom blinds
became tourniquets
tightening light to slits.
Neighbors’ homes
were caves aflame
I counted with the owl.
People still walked
their snuffling dogs.
Migrating doves
brought record heat,
red flag warnings,
winter down to one
snow as she ate, slept,
ached, suns setting
like alien things behind
the house we painted
hospital white,
the blue bedroom
where she fell and fell.
from #86 – Poetry Prize