» Poetry

On Hearing of Yellowstone’s Latest Swarm of Earthquakes

Part of me has always wanted

the world to shake every morning,

just so I felt alive. Only minor tremors,

of course, nothing elaborate. A fallen

fence maybe, or a few globs of fruit

dropping in the field. That way I’d know

daylight again. I could feel it. I could

draw the blinds and run my hands along

a cracked window pane—that slice of life

that makes across the glass a flowing river.

Outside, the parking lot could fold a little,

ripple like a cornfield in Kansas. One streetlight,

every morning, could crash into the street,

that’s all. And listen, don’t get me wrong.

I don’t want pain or loss or the crumbling of

city hall. I only want a modest nudge to say

hello. I want to know the world is here,

and so am I. Yes, so am I.