JACQUELINE TRIEBER WILLCOCKS

Recall  

It’s been raining for days— 
I worry that the seedlings 
are going to rot  
in their garden beds 

I dissolve into green, 
fingertips wrinkle like  
tiny baby mice  

My dog is now  
a springy teen 
We practice Come! 
in the sodden woods 

She drinks forest puddles, 
saunters with a stick 

Next month is your 
birthday, The first  
after your death
 
I can’t say that  
time has made  
a difference 

There is a bottle of wine  
unopened 
in the corner cupboard 
A cross street  
with your name on it 
A house, pale yellow 
against the standing firs 

These wet days 
I track the footprints 
of my dog on black  
trails, spot the tail 
end of a snake sliding 
into sword ferns. 

I recall the star that came apart— 

a sky of loss.