Читать книгу Book of Dog - Cleopatra Mathis - Страница 14

Chipmunk in the Pool

Chippy fallen in, little head bobbing,

and from the second floor, dark in their conversation,

she runs to rescue. No handy net to lift it out, no

chipmunk-sized anything, so she throws

her shirt, a raft of sorts to scamper on,

too heavy, too close—how could she not know this,

her usual way of jumping in before thinking—

and it flips, goes under.

The broom, she’s calling now to the silent house,

bring me the broom.

The creature fights itself up, and she leans

to grab the baby belly and soaked heft,

pluck it out to the air where it gasps a little, chokes out

water from a gaping mouth. She massages with one finger

where the lungs might be. More droplets gurgle up;

mouth to mouth is needed

along with pumping. But she can’t, not without

some small opening to blow through,

safe distance from her own mouth, which

has released a little drool, working in sympathy

as if she can convince this thing to be saved—

how hard can it be in the tame backyard pool?

And why can’t he come out of the house

with some other idea, that tumbler of straws

plain on the kitchen counter; why

for God’s sake, won’t he come out and help?