A Storm, A Madness


In the darkness outside these walls, wind hunts.

Rain thrums against the roof, windows, old wood deck,

a rapping of hard knuckles,

tone and timbre sharp, clear, chaos.

Pine boughs hunker down inside the curl of night.


Our neighbor's porch light is on.

But that doesn't keep wind from hunting out there.


Cradled inside warm down, I lie and listen to the howls

then rise to peer out from the great western windows.

Shadows outside hint of broken limbs, torn

from wearied bodies; the oldest of the pines,

too tired to withstand the hurls.


Tomorrow, while we walk, we'll witness the carnage.

We'll breathe, nod, breathe.


I wrap myself in wool and sheepskin and watch the storm.

Like a madman, wind dances circles round the pines,

confusing them so that they flay and wail and moan.

Then just as the trees finally relax—

in an instant—gusts shift direction, split the aching

wooden arms at their joints.


In the morning, we'll stand witness; wind doesn't eat its prey.

Instead, leaves it for its lover, earth, to devour.


    Return to Poetry page

© Copyright 2007 Susan M. Botich