Watch

Elisabeth Murawski

The sky’s a murky green. You stop the car
in heavy rain to take my hand and pray.
Is this a truce? An end to civil war?
Honey in your voice. Keep us safe you say,
and I am moved to hope, my spirit light
despite tornado’s threat across the miles
we’ve left behind. I’m never one to fight,
fish in a barrel, fooled by Cheshire smiles.
You’re a lion taking stock of the lame
gazelle, an X-ray sighting fractured bone.
I can’t forget your hail of words to shame
my pale esteem, slight as a crescent moon.
All’s quiet now. The storm that pulled us near
moves on. We drop hands. No lark sings here.