Adversity | Hope | Poetry | Strength | Trial

SUMMER STORM
At four in the afternoon, the first
Perceptions of its darkening: the light
In the alley is hoodwinked by mechanical
Means into turning on its ringed glow;
The winged skelter of robins is everywhere
And soundless, while beneath the rumpled clouds
The elms lace their leaves anxiously. It has
The house now in its large, dark embrace,
Trying the weather-stripping with the wind,
Whipping the walls with the cords of rain.
Inside, roosted and fluttering like the birds,
Still we know that it will end: in the wrinkles
Of wet grass fireflies will rise; the alley
Light will re-awink at nine; the robins
Will settle at their somber grieving as on any
Ordinary evening; and after the power outage,
The wires will re-define themselves
Along their crocheted edge of drops, ready
To carry birds and reassurances again.
Nancy G. Westerfield in St. Andrew’s…