Mi Ju, Blue Sheep, 2015 (Artist Website)
Acrylic on canvas, cut out paper, thread
42 x 50”

Thunder comes early and thick, like a theory

vague and wandering, world-weary, resisting

rain. So we sleep  to the sound of sky

long past daylight, two dogs dreaming,

and wake to that darkness weather can wring.

Downstairs, the children flip channels, all

friendly delirium. You rally a fire while I

absently browse for eggs, or butter—

secretly loving my limits when, late-week,

empty or near-empty shelves force enterprise;

leftovers rouse into latkes, or bread

pudding, or sugar pies. Soon we’ll paddle

to the table, a coterie of cause-and-effect:

our son nearly managing, pre-methylphenidate,

the brilliant body into which he was born

six weeks early, like a silverfish, spellbound,

his red lips smiling and raw with worry;

our daughter, a kind of kindling, insists

on tap shoes; attempts to towel-whip; torments

yet again the puppy confined, for her peace,

while in heat. You and I, some lesson in yielding.

Outside, the hard rain heaves and drives.

The orchard, warily organized, brightens.

Sometimes a car quakes by, but carefully;

at the curb, turkeys pause and pace, then tighten.

Danielle Pieratti

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