Photo by Jaimie Phillips on Unsplash

Rain and thunder joined
this morning’s waking,
left sweet haze over the
ragged grasses,
the oaks by the driveway, their
dark branches spread,
their rain-gloss leaves tangled
together by striving, circling wind.
I stretch, lazy as the orange cat named
Emmeline, who luxuriated the same way
so long ago upon my bed.
The storm has passed, winds quiet,
branches still.
Memory of Emmeline a fleeting
thing.
Heat is rising, children stirring,
laundry waiting.
Put these words away, if the file
within my mind that names
me Poet.
And wait for voices to call that
other name I love –

“Grandma”