Monday's Poem

© Alison Watt

Dry Lightning

Crying jags, insomnia,
flirting with danger,
cuts and burns.
My girl, I would keep you
from harm's way

like the day you stepped down from the curb
in front of the bakery
(intent on the smartie buttons of your gingerbread)
and I swept you up before I saw the bus coming.

When did I begin to lose that edge?

The day you insisted on walking ahead of me
on the way home from school?
The first time you stepped alone through airport security?

The night you slept by yourself in the tent
under the arbutus
and a storm came out of nowhere,
dry lightning cracking like gunshot?
In the morning a black scar
twisting down the trunk.