WHAT WOKE US

 

eventually it was the

squirrel

his chitter casting

down

like angry smoke from halfway up

the nextdoor tree

 

snarling spitter, mad mad

mad

as much for the

rough

unloving feel

of pine bark against his

four bare feet

 

as for the careless

parenting

of his squirrel forebears

who had no choice but to

raise him

so squirrelly

 

upset with the dog

perhaps

great black police

who chased

this small brown agitant

from his yardbound forage

and rabid to the street

 

and angry at us

no doubt

sleeping

still warm

and dozey rocks

at ease against the waking sea

 

might well never guess

would we

what could detonate such fury

clinging onto branches

surly

side himself (it was so early)

 

previous the phone had

chirped

a brief repentant sound

 

previous the cat had

burped

and leapt from bed to ground

 

previous we dreamt and swayed our pains and trauma such allayed and life

from birth and death extracted swam like rivers, deep protracted danced in

eyes and ears like epic sweeping love and soaring fears eager of a long

last drink for who we've lost and what they think

 

not to us however

terse recumbent forms

the growing meaning of

the day

exhaling

rising up out of the ground

 

because finally what it came to was

the squirrel

was so bent of shape

and our bedroom windows

 

rattling with his

ancient chitter creep

 

and previous becomes today

sleep regressing

sloughs away

and ordinary life redounds

with first the sin and then

the sound

 

JD Frey‑‑July 9, 1998