Storm


Not much to say on this one.

Storm

The wind is fierce tonight, she says.
Yes, the wind howls like a banshee
Tears dying leaves from the trees
Bends their branches like fingers
Grasping the edge of a cliff before slipping
Down into a vortex of river rapids-

Do you think we should close the curtains?
No, it makes no difference open or closed
The wind will prowl outside the house
Closing our eyes to it won’t make it disappear
It will just catch us off-guard when it strikes
Bites hard at the throat like a hungry wolf-

I’m going to bed dear it’s late, she says.
Fine, I’ll get little sleep tonight either way
The tick-tock of a sleepy clock marks time
While a fire crackles blithely on the hearth
I’ll find a mark on the wall to occupy my mind
So I won’t dwell on the storm that rages outside.

© Bridget Noonan, 2009, 2011.

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