Storms Around the House

Outside, a scowling mass of black clouds refuses to let a ray of light pass through. Leaves tug at trees.

Thunder crumples sky, lightning tears at it. And now, rain!

It pelts sharp and fast on the tin. Inside, a restless volley

of words. Hot tears from the woman. She runs out of talk,

but her mind flutters like cottonwood leaves.

She catches her husband rolling his eyes, taking a deep breath,

blowing out a sigh. Then he puts the heel of one hand

on his forehead and presses as if to leave a brand. She waits

for flashes of lightning to stop, for low, slow motions to ease.

The sky grows thin arms of light, and there comes a coolness,

a gentleness. Longing for clear air, she steps into the yard,

desiring any pale light shining. And oh! she finds

emerald cushions of moss peeking. She calls back to him—

wanting to forgive and be forgiven, wanting their eyes

to touch the lifeboat together.

by Pat Durmon Push Mountain Road (2015)

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P. S.

Dear kindest friends and readers,

This is October. I am putting poetry, rather than prose, on my blog this month. One poem per week. Each selected poem has been published in one of my four books. Three of my poetry books are listed below. If you click on a book, it will take you to that book at amazon.com. We'll be adding Blind Curves next week. I appreciate any purchases, any reviews.

Thank you and Blessings,

Pat Durmon

(patdurmon.com)

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Storm clouds, Jefferson City, Missouri. Photo taken by Laura Garrett, circa 2015.