Epiphany

Here I am, with one hour to find it.
Here I am in this tenth month, the peeler of pears, 
the slicer of hotdogs, cutting them into strips 
smaller than a child’s windpipe. 
Here’s my apologetic smile, accepted by the daycare 
in return for my children. So what is there to find 
in one hour on my desk’s shallow surface? 
I’ve mislaid all of it somewhere among 
my mind’s tiny grey flags, in the millions of scraps 
piling up. I left it behind in the dark bleeding gums 
of the dog that I loved, watching her clench yet another rock 
from the tide. That was twelve years ago. 
What was she looking for? 
What if she’d stopped looking?
Metaphors were easy then, not only the sky,
but migrating everywhere. And now everyone is arrow
arrow, arrows. Everyone harpoons. 
And I am the big heart, aren’t I?
When my black dog was being put down, in her last 
second I whispered, Squirrel.

Pictured: Cracked Sky no. 3, provenance unknown. Author’s own.