Snug in pink cashmere
Sunday morning,  fresh-ground coffee  

you share news of last night’s shooting
another one I slept through  
lightning cracking  
loud as thunder, you said loud
as a whip cracked right 
outside the window loud
as the grinder loud as thunder  

no sirens, just gunfire again  
The gunfire woke you, woke J downstairs,
all alone who texted  

But I, right by the window
shushing in the white-noise circular
rain rumbling repeating distant
belly-growl thunder I was shushing,
sleeping  right through it again  

loud as a whip, you said
bloody lightning richochettes
mourning doves scatter three a.m.
another shooting  

And I, snug in fresh laundered sheets
I slept through it, lulled
rocking-chair dreams a sunny
windowsill a red Swedish horse
and a gate that opened to paradise  

outside loud as a whip cracking
louder, even  

but the dream,  sunny with thunder
gunfire flashing beyond the purple hills  

snug in pink cashmere
sipping fresh-ground coffee