She throws me curveballs and crises like they’re tree limbs,
car parts, and siding that’s gotten ripped off.
She bats astonished eyes at me, says I never flinch.
I glance past her to all I’ve juggled before-
Lost keys, new jeeps, holes in walls, illegal rides,
electric the company won’t leave on,
shrill screams, and two feet of trash by the nightstand,
scrapped plans, and- I am the eye of the hurricane!

Silent as an active volcano,
managing or micromanaging and plowing on,
just staying calm, taking all of it in,
hiding until every wind has died down,
to sneak out of the safe space I become,
to breathe, shudder, break down,
or run.