Alice Firman

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Today the sky proved it—
Tiepolo must have reconvened
his dust. A blue miracle
fat with bird twitter and high
clouds puffed up boastful and shot
through with light. Imagine, all that
to crown this little town of no-account.
They say the Shelnuts’ dog spun
circles to see it, almost strangling
in his chain. And streets, every up
and down, shone new or just washed,
though there’d been no rain, and we feared
we were seeing things or that our sweet
old Earth had come a bit unhinged.

But no, for three whole hours
we had true high-toned gorgeousness.
Why, I don’t know except to say
last night I watched the Shelnuts
throw away their ancient mattress, leaving it
at the curb like an offering or a lumpy
testimony embellished with stains.
And this morning, down roared Aphrodite
in all her glory, her dazzling hands
ringed with gold, brushing the cumulus aside
so she could have a good look.