No Smoke, No Heat, No Rain

Porcupine quills of the silver pine

needle the rainbow scroll 

of dusk, late July: an eyelid dusted 

bluepinkwhite over the vague Cascades—

distant fires...  Car alarm and harmonica

of Lake City Way, Rocky barking

and the neighbors watering their plum trees.

How many more summers like this, 

what we used to call summer?

To breathe the air and sit in sleeves 

hearing seeing smelling 

night come on. My husband always

goes in earlier—getting eaten up

as I linger, spared for now, nursing

that fir in the distance, each bough shifting

like a cat’s tail at sea — even more at the top

where one stout trunk becomes two.

Birds knit the last light with nest talk

then silence before the traffic picks up

and someone whistles invisibly.

Deirdre Lockwood’s debut collection, An Introduction to Error, is forthcoming from Cornerstone Press in September 2025. Read more.

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I Walk Through the Neighborhood Without You for the First Time Since Your Birth