The Sky is Falling

When the Old Man fell,
it interrupted all scheduled programming,
including Britney’s tenth birthday party,
where I was one minute
feeling

to pin the tail on the donkey,
and the next listening
for the sound
of a pin
falling.

Falling
like ashes,
ashes from the sky
in Oregon.
Fifteen years later,
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What Remains Vivid Now

the memory of the pansy, bold faced, persisting

through whiplash weather.
March 14: snow.
March 15: storm of pollen

over the mountains,
across the flats,
down into the valleys —

everywhere,
everything,
flourishing
all at once.

It was my first hay fever,
I think, but it is hard
to think back.

So much happens each day.