The Truth About Tigers

The way the tree is trimmed
reminds me of acacias
from childhood issues
of National Geographic.

Fitting, then, that the grass—
brown, brittle, unmoving—
resembles the savanna,
a tinderbox waiting
on a careless spark.

The fires will come,
cleansing the forests.
The tornadoes too,
arriving more often
than they used to.

Rain feels like a rumor now,
a ghost of bygone springs,
and will stay that way
until hurricane season returns—
earlier each year,
less patient,
less forgiving.