Alarm
by M. Nasorri Pavone

1. The broken toilet hisses all day in her apartment,
2. white noise of the renter.

1. If the sound of water in a mild state calms,
2. bubbling sewage backing up in the bath does not.

1. She isn’t reminded of hot springs or a creek
2. by only their music, nor the country farm

1. from the neighbor dogs howling at movement.
2. She opens her window, raises her arms—

1. high priestess in thought— not on a mountain top
2. rounding up her wolf clan for the kill, not driven

1. to the sill by the leaky tap, but by the insistent
2. alarm of the wild, the will, the restlessness

1. beyond the white wall of a steady drip
2. with its faceless clock, all plumbing going out

1. at once in a crumble of conspiracy. Yet here
2. she’s lived for all these years, still amused

1. by small mushrooms popping through the paint,
2. listening for someone like Noah to whisper,

1. Get your ark together! Can’t you see the flood
2. is coming? And make sure the dogs go with you.