Proof
       

I have no proof of my own fear
without these: the shoulders
of the moose crossing our trail
midday: deadly & indifferent
to us & the neon cottonwoods
shocking October. You
seem already sad & I can't be
trusted—I double what the recipe
calls for when it comes to onions.
I cry & cry & feel cleaned out.
I have no proof
without him, the man
on the motorcycle who died
within minutes of my father
finding him on a back road
in southern Ohio. After the wreck,
against the fence. He's borrowed
time before he says & now—
Addison, eight pounds, is alive
& thriving, one week new
to this world in which two
young boys, strangers,
offer to help carry my couch & later
in the same day, a man
threatens to poison my dog.

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Copyright © 2014 Ashley Seitz Kramer All rights reserved
from Colorado Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission