It was so still and beautiful out, you said,
peeling back the blue plastic bag that held
the news, you know what it made me
think of? 9/11. For a moment, the quiet
air, the lack of traffic or even birds
made its own sound: a sort-of breath, not
song, but nearly. Then a metallic rasp
from the coffee grinder, and water exploding
into the bathtub. Sky like cornflowers, sixty
degrees, light stately as a long prayer.
Did you see the pictures of the tornadoes
in Texas? you said. And I thought, elsewhere.
Photo by Mee2ch (Own work (own photo)) [CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.