A hurricane with a pretty name destroyed my home,
left only a portion standing;
a flat and even slab, like Charlie's oiled hair.
I reckon it was the foundation.
Yellow tents were rushed forward
as surrogate shelters, with flaps and zips
to cover the pain and Swiss-cross windows
to show it.
The rescuers and volunteers said
they would try and bring back as much of my stuff
as they could find.
'Rescue the moments too.'
The air where your kisses flew erratically
before landing on my chin, sometimes shin,
sometimes on the handle of my coffee mug.
Dino's cold, wet nose prints against the kitchen counter.
The times when he sat equi-distance from us
when we fought, never taking sides.
His last bark.
Bring back the fragrant leaf
of our first autumn together,
pressed in-between the pages of the Webster dictionary.
Bring back the smile wrapped in a three-word letter,
the brilliance of sixty nine full moons,
the five dollar note you won at the casino,
the words of love I traced on your
naked back with my fingertips
and the shadow of one dark, endless night.
Bring back all this and more when you
bring me dinner tonight