Irma

Listening to wind

pummel eighty-foot

childhood climbing

trees while six-foot-

long branches snap

from their parent

and leaves strip bare

from limbs in Florida’s

sloppy, humid heat

until the huffing

hurricane is a lullaby

of gusts, which sway

the oak where a squirrel

nestles in the hollows.

 At 7:45, I awake

and thrash the blinds

on my window open

to cloud-covered

sky with branches

scattered across

the ground like rays

of sun.

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