Patricia L. Hamilton
The silence after the storm ravages,
numbing the senses. No birds sing.
Instinct unites them in reverence
for the wreckage of limbs
where they might have been nesting,
now strewn about as carelessly
as a child’s pick-up sticks.
No dogs bark. They cower under beds,
noses buried in their paws, still
cringing at the thunder’s treachery,
disavowing the testimony
of a clock’s soft ticking.
Only a black-and-white cat
picking its way through leafy debris
as it crosses the wet pavement
remains undeafened by the tumult’s end
from Issue 7, pg. 41