Mama’s on the telephone with
Mike who’s working on the oil platform across the inlet—
somethin’s comin’
there’s a tenseness in the world—
we all look out the window
and search blue sky as if any moment
warplanes will fill it up.
A bird flits by.
Snow is melting from the black spruce boughs.
The Earth is headed for
somethin’—
somethin’s comin’—
I can feel it too but in a different way,
the way my belly clenches when I try to get to sleep
and nothing will untie me,
wondering,
wondering what sort of
somethin’s comin’—
And back to my old worry
that it’s my fault everything rushes like this
like I’ve had a good graceful winter now it’s melting
to reveal North Korean warheads
poking out of the snow like dandelions
eager to meet everyone here
that hasn’t expected this,
careless and fat and lazy,
hibernating bears
surprised by pouring tides of snowmelt down
their quiet mountain.
As my mother laughs nervously, scared,
talking of ammo and rations and
preparation—
because somethin’s comin’—
I remind myself for the six thousandth time
that my world is uncertain
teetering
always at the edge of its seat
breath quickened
struggling to keep its heart rate
in line with the seasons.
Us people are an itch and a scratch,
always clawing at each other
to get to the inside
to get rid of what’s bothering us when it’s
not even here yet--
but it’s comin’—
somethin’s comin’.