Cloud Seeding

They both love to show off  the two varieties  
in their newly grafted apple tree.    It hasn’t rained  
in weeks & without fail, each time the baby  
needs up, the dog needs out  & I covet nothing 
 
but this. Choose your circle  carefully the news cycle  
says until enough moons wane by  	that I am handed  
a two-year-old when I step through the door  
& I covet nothing but            the soreness in my arms  
 
for nights after.  	         It’s May & I miss the thunder.  
August & I search for snow. On the rare clear day, I cover  
in grey. Under the apple tree,   	I am helping  
bury their pet possum who died in its cage, in a basement, 
 
in its shit. In another house, my bed lies dormant. My cat 
refuses her name. Again  	       I wake on a couch & again 
one is off to work, while the other shuts the bedroom door.  
Mama, their child calls to me  & I do not correct her.  
 
Somewhere down the street, their dog’s  	distant bark.  
In my arms  	   every cloud the sky would not hold, & I covet  
so little.