Siren

2/15/16

I roll and watch him
as sirens strike chorus
and flail red lights from the fire
station down the street.

How is he still asleep I'm thinking

as my whole chest
shrills and flexes.

In this vein I drag
up, as if through burdock,
strings and tendrils of what
never healed.

Maybe to kiss again,
or maybe to make the horrible
exquisite flight

one red cardinal made over and over
against the window of my living room
the first year I chose
to love
anyone.  Please

let it not be that battering.
Let the emergency that isn't mine

stay so, and my body
believe it.