TEN O’CLOCK, THE DAY ALREADY THREATENING by Kari Gunter-Seymour Light making the whole place look queer, angles and shadows, sky dark, ratcheting everything down. Tops of the oaks toss back and forth, clacking their branches together. Behind them a rumbling. Thunder? Someone’s truck gearing down to take the hill, life somehow slipping out of gear? I taught you to dream this yard in Ohio where the grass holds the shapes of your feet, where clouds are the breaths of trees, the wind their voices. Prayed it would ward you, the blood and bone smell of it, overthrowing the hiss in your head. They can say anything, do anything, bring anything out at any moment, hope to do you in. You will have spring rain, splashing newly sprouted grass, the tin roof, the window sill, the smell of fresh baked bread, your rascally black dog haunched and cock-eyed, waiting by the mailbox. Gyroscope Review - page 20 !