What Now by Catherine Daly Nothing’s unassailable:  his mohair coat hanging on a hook, kids’ rubber boots littering the hallway, wet porch planking warping and peeling as I pause. Things within my reach share inexpensive adjectives.  Modest verbiage crowds my table into a corner, props windows open, letting in soot. But how else can I encompass this? Ash improves sunset. Wood-stoked pump trucks often overturned, adding to blazes. I’ve shared an impromptu tea party with my daughter, singing at her pillow case tablecloth. Her dolls tolerated imaginary food. I balanced two saucer-sized plates on my knee. Later, we followed her bed time with real wine and sweet, heavy fresh bread. Our sparkling things and warm light indicate festival and deep regard, although I recognize things are gilded. Sodden red paper bleeds dye into puddles. It rains fire, it burns, then it rains. Copyright © 1999 Catherine Daly All Rights Reserved   Catherine Daly is teaching UCLA Extension's first online poetry workshop and works as a software developer (currently for the space shuttle).  Her MFA is from Columbia, her poems have been published widely on and off line. Some of them can be accessed on her personal homepage.