My dog tries to fight the thunder.

 

She barks at nothing

and threatens it.

 

She lunges at empty air.

 

She says, “I’m going to cross the street

and get you,”

as if the noise is just another dog

or cat or squirrel.

 

I wish she could chase away my headaches,

my depression,

my anxiety

the way she chases birds,

sneaking up on them,

creeping slowly as if she has any chance of catching one,

pouncing a split second after they move,

cussing them as they fly away.

“And don’t come back!”

 

We both fight things we cannot see.