Earthquakes by Eve Kagan

There were earthquakes in the Hollywood Hills,
the canyon in the mouth of a lion roaring

so deep the television could crash
to the floor without us noticing, until later

when we surveyed the damage, swept
broken glass and rearranged the furniture, 

an inch here and there, from the fault
lines colliding. I never slept alone 

afterwards. I crawled into her bed
on dad’s side, empty, wide awake

and perfectly still, pretending to sleep
for each other, to wait out the aftershocks. 

When the light crept in, she would
wax the dining room table, clean the fridge,

call the neighbors, do the doing dance
to avoid the obvious—the earth was shifting

beneath us, the time for lullabies
and fairytales expired, knowing 

the foundation must crack
for mountains to move.

………………..

Eve Kagan is a poet/performer/trauma therapist living in Boulder, Colorado. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in Parks & Points & Poetry 2021, Eunoia Review, Wild Roof Journal, and Amethyst Review