by Kelly

tree frogs feed at the

front door light — in the shadows

pale pink petunias

by Kelly

middle of the night

dog pants, whines, needs to go out

I hear. Hubby sleeps.

by Alison

dreaming in the car

her eyes follow the moon and

the moon follows her

by Alison

.

.

.

morning:

I play dolls with kid

throw the Kong ball to puppy

and play dolls some more

.

later:

instead of rushing

to the store we meet up with

a caterpillar

.

afternoon:

I scream in the car

a tick on my tummy while

driving to Walmart

.

dinnertime:

8:57

kid’s still eating mac and cheese

puppy looks for crumbs

.

bedtime:

husband sick in bed

nursing a cup of miso

daughter rubs her eyes

.

night time:

pup goes out for one

last poop I close my eyes and

listen to crickets

by Alison

blood on our doorstep

animal tracks dig the grass -

What happened last night?

by Alison

golden summer moon

rests low in my neighbor’s field -

our worlds keep shifting

by Kelly

the heat of July –

we’ve come to expect nightly

tree frogs at our door

by Alison

“Crescent moon,” he says.

“No. A fingernail clipping.”

Kelly’s words change me.

by Alison

no cable TV

I pull out my old journal

and write poetry

by Alison

stretched out on my bed

freshly showered and alone -

window fans rattle, rain falls