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.