Sunday, August 16, 2009

Storm Front

Storm clouds billowed creating cold fronts
in the small checkers of her dress, puffing
her pockets like an intruder, invisible
bellows held close to the fire.

The rain began to speak to the tin above
outside the day strobed and forked
into instants that almost seemed real
the taste of air like iron on the tongue.

A farmer’s daughter, she understood
language of land parched to the quick
could feel its pores open and close
a lover’s heart spread wide to sky.

The hair on her arms began to shiver
as the storm built itself bolt by drop
fields flattened like golden dominoes
drought released in one great gasp.

- Debbie Calverley

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