men with ladders came to replace windows blown
out by hurricane winds, tools in their belts, sweat
on their shirts. We fixed and painted, knowing
we’d have to board them up again next month
as beautiful days ticked by on this unforgiving beach
in the storm's path. We hammered away the past,
replaced a dormer that fell, weakened at the joints.
Eager to show off his prize, one craftsman presented
his unusual find— a dove flown against the glass,
her neck limp. He held her toward me, an offering,
a trophy, a message, something unfixable, bloodied
and permanent, reminding me of the many years
I slammed into walls, not recognizing my own
reflection, believing there was no place safe to land.
