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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