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Posts Tagged ‘storm’

 

 

 

Standing beneath the pinion tree

I am almost dry, while all around me

 

the rain almost attacks the road.

I lean my head against its shagging bark

 

and watch the world transform from dust

to shine. Thunder rends the darkened sky.

 

I knew when I began the ride

the rain was impatient.

 

I knew it would be no gentle shower.

How odd to trick myself into being

 

caught in a storm. How often I choose the gale.

Small bits of bark tear off in the wind,

 

fall to the cactus, the dirt. Eventually,

I am no longer content to watch

 

and pull my bike into the rain. Wasn’t

this what I wanted somehow, to be

 

unguarded, exposed, out? Within a minute

my clothes stick to my skin, and I shiver,

 

in part from the chill, in part because

I, too, have become a shining thing.

 

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One Inescapable

 

 

 

Ducking into the woods

it is harder to tell

the storm has come—

though here

beneath the trees

in my own chest,

thunder.

 

 

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Though there is not a thing I can do
to calm the heart-stilling fat slam of thunder,
my daughter clings to me and whimpers.
Immense tides of rumble shudder the sky.
Another. Another. We huddle. I whisper into
her ear, “I am here.” It is the truest thing
I know to say. In a great storm, we do
what we can. Stay close to each other.
Get quiet. Quieter. Gasp as if gasping might turn
fear to awe. Keep our eyes very, very open.

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Video Poem: In Unlikely Places

I am such a fan of this blog, Journey of the Heart, and today they’ve posted another of my video poems, this one about the grace that sometimes comes out of what looks like a big big bummer … 

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Tonight, the storm is not here, but I see it
in the distance. Lightning unzippers the air, white shock
of illumination. The sky doesn’t hide its bruises.

Dark tents of rain settle over the flats.
And the thunder, no matter how distant, grabs me
with its enormous hands, shakes me by the shoulders,

and tells me to hush. If the angel came to me tonight
and said it were my turn to wrestle, would I tussle with him
until daybreak? Would I try to shutter him out? If he pushed me

to the earth, would I leap up and run? Or lie there and let
him take me the way the rain would if it were here?
I hush. Must we fight for our blessings? Must we steal

for our birthright? The wind dances the leaves,
ravages my hair. Angel, please do not come tonight.
I am tired. Uncertain. Oh, you are already here.

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ripe apricots
heavy with sweetness
strewn around
the orchard floor this calm
morning after the wind storm

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nothing holds back
the river forever—
these hands still trying

same cold, same dawn,
same landscape—even that hill
seems tired of standing

*

again I write
in my head the letter, again
I rip it up

*

and then the day came
when I sat in the lupine
instead of climbing

*

morning after
the storm each glittering limb
the most lovely

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