An unusual joy churns
inside, unspoken.
Within a tornado, pressure
is low. Calmly I notice light
striking our old oak table,
the burnished wood. A newspaper
lies open. No need to read
the ads. No shopping to plan.
No recipes to follow. No
ingredients. A house explodes
from inside. Outside a siren.
Three children, laboring husband.
Early summer. Wild
strawberries, apricots
begin to color. Neighbors
offer their trees. We pick.