Tether Me

Dear high school marching band drum line
cadencing through the summer evening
from a mile away, please hold me here.
Let your sound so gold and bright
be a tether. Keep me from drifting again
into that space where I don’t know anything
but the earthquake magnitude of my love
for my loves and the spidersilk thin web
by which I’m knotted into my life. Dear UPS
delivery knock, remind me of where I live—
this sturdy house with a red door, an aging roof.
Dear student stopping by with a citation question
we’ve covered twice in class, thank you
for pulling me back from the antigravity.
Who can sustain in that vast floating, so full
of stars but endless? Dear public radio
segue music, hook and hold me. Dear hashtag,
dear late night sketch, dear photo of a friend’s
new pitbull pup, truss me right to this earth.
Dear caterwauling fire truck in my rearview.
Dear tailless calico peering in my window.
Dear child needing milk or Goldfish
or to know how eardrums work, let me sit
on the kitchen floor with you. Let’s notice how
we’re both right here. Dear automatic car lock,
as I’m walking away, I’ll press the button.
Honk once to remind me I haven’t disappeared.