A Storm
In a white car‚ while
wearing a white gown‚ over
bridges and mountains‚ down
into valleys
in springtime‚ or
the ocean’s frozen over.
No. A beast with a tail made of weather
knocking a third of the stars out of heaven.
A storm in the heart
of every morning.
Despite the diagnosis.
With no regard for the prognosis.
A prayer whispered
in a roadside chapel
as a fire truck wails by:
No‚ like
that fire truck idling
at the center of the fire.
Like a hummingbird wrapped up
in a bright silk scarf. Tightly. Its
tiny shroud. Little storm. Still alive.
This poem is part of BR’s special package celebrating National Poetry Month.
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About the Author
Laura Kasischke’s thirteen books include Space, in Chains, a collection of poems, and The Raising: A Novel. She teaches at the University of Michigan.
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April, in poetic timbre,
sways like the freshly leafed-out trees of Spring,
just before a storm.
The air warm,
the breeze rising in crescendo
until the moment turns
and we know that the storm has stepped around us
or instead
that it arrives an instant later
before we can whisper,
“It missed us.”
copyright Paul Forest 2011
April ,ahhh the month of Daffodils and Cancer Hope ,a precursor to summer!!! end of all the cold season .
Yet the storm that rages within pales the wintery blasts of Canadian winters!!
Pam