First Light by Tricia Knoll
Emergency managers did as they said they’d do
when hard night cracked to first light.
They left gymnasium shelters
that smelled of burned coffee
to assess damage.
Trees cracked.
Streets turned creek.
Homes can-opened topless.
Trailers blown over and boats too.
Dead mounting in countdowns.
They turned on the subways
and unrolled blue tarps.
The weight of dawn on her eyelids
renewed the infant’s belly hunger
curled in a crib below plywood.
She cried and kicked
at softnesses.
The warblers tried muted ululations.
The crows belly-ached.
Cars crawled into a limb-studded
freeway, blind man’s beads poked
on a humming string.
Dreamers twitched away
vestibules of eroded,
swaying rafters.
The cat in the window seat stretched
as if nothing much had happened. Art by San Poggio. Recommended listening: White Knuckles - Ok Go Links of the Day: The Recusant Goodbye, Hidden Track America's Most Haunted Road