A hyphen. I walk the plank between my two names —call me Esther. The Hebrew three-root letters mean to hide, hidden. A song, repeated.
Every day something green snaps by, in front, behind. Again. A hummingbird mother, her nest cupped in the rose bush next to me.
The tornado that skipped our house left chain saws snarling a block away to clear the splintered trees. Power out, phones out, batteries