below
on a pile of needles
cones kicked aside
a piece of plastic
a pad    a pillow
too hot for covers
later pure dark        no moon
  no light
no cars on the highway
the dog watches warily
leaps growling into the shadows once
to scare off a raccoon, returns, quiet again
then rises the clatter of grinding steel
the whistle calls across the wide dry
river channel as if
a train would blow through
the silent grove, through
the farm house down the road
shattering trunks
scattering animals
boring holes in the night—
long whistle for the crossing
then soft chuffs as the freight cars
rattle by for many minutes far across the river
still air without a hint of wind
settle down again
the grove thick
and dark
stars glow, I look
straight up
through far
branches


© by Emily Strauss.
Used with the author’s permission.