Another hurricane brews
and this one
is named after my daughter
who cyclones
around the house
carrying stuffed animals
and rubber ducks
in a life raft wicker basket.
Her bedroom
carpet is her atlas,
the kitchen
warm
equatorial
and touristy.
She visits
squeals
leaves
and repeats.
All afternoon
this home spins
on its axis
switching poles abruptly
as when the lawn,
flattop and green
is overrun by darkness-
a starling flock
shrieking panic then
gone;
their flight seizes my
daughter until she
two going on three-
discovers
gleefully
her carrot slices
taste infinitely better
swirled
in raspberry jam.