Storm
Facing north, we felt it especially at ten, walking out
with the dog, who all day saw it coming:
I walked in, saw yesterday’s mail and the day before’s
blown on the floor in the pattern of a wind pushing in,
around the propped open door. I straightened
and ignored what the storm was so plainly telling me:
batten down, find your torches, locate the matches,
set up the candles. Do not sit down until you can make
light in the dark without a switch. Where are your guns?
Find the knives. Have you checked the locks? You head out
with that dog, as if the wind might not lift you
like Dorothy. As if the trees won’t loose their limbs
on you. Are the storm windows fast? Is there water
in your Mason jars? Pile the quilts high,
gather the pack in the back room, huddle for warmth.
Disregard the blossom flying apart. Go ahead,
get sad about the cherries. Watch the trees split,
the pergola fly into the night. Watch the night.
I think the wind blew in some nasty mojo. that said, I love the parts about knives and guns. Well done.
Best word picture of a windstorm ever.