Poets are always taking the weather so personally. They’re always sticking their emotions in things that have no emotion. J.D. Salinger
The moon got lost last night
But the thick black knew where we lived
Sending fingers of rain tapping glass
Like a needy corpse demanding heartbeat
The wind picked up the tempo
Rattling the roof like a wild tambourine
Then wailing and howling an unearthly song
Not recorded in our listening lexicon
Sleep became a thorny restless beast
Snuffling around our thumped pillows
Flipping side to side like a dizzy coin
The damp a weighted blanket of what ifs
We worried the world’s abrupt conclusion
Books, favorite teapot, our beloved hills lost to deluge
Words of kindness still lodged in our throats
Love’s gold not freely spent
While on our knees, dawn’s glory snuck in
Crept over the horizon like a thief
Another birthday
A sliver of God
(An earlier version of this poem appeared on a past Lexington Poetry Month/Workhorse
website.)
2024 Finalist Submission for Penned: Poetry