Straw

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The straw of the cut grain 
Gold mounding the hill 
On the way down from my house 
On the mountain 

Like the round of my two-year-old’s head 
Just after a haircut 
I run my hand over it wrong way 
Feel it stubble under my palm 

Think of a mouse hiding 
In the straw on the hill 
Shouldering the shadow of a hawk 
Scuttering from shock to shock 

Think of the robin crying 
On my front walk 
His strangled mate limp 
On the railroad ties by the edge of the lawn
Her song caught in her mouth 

It begins to rain on my child and me 
I hold him in the autumn sunset 
His shock of hair scented wet like straw 

The deer have not found the tomatoes and peppers
We hid among the flowerbeds 
I wonder if they’ll ripen 

The older children come one by one 
To sit on the steps in the rain with us 
We shoulder each other 
Wordless, close together 
Our toes outward, a circle of light 
We have 
No shadows in the setting sun