Under Thunder
Poem by Tricia Knoll
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Smudged to soot, the sky warns
of pelting rain — collisions of sound
that don’t stop with the counting
of one-one thousands and so on.
Two cherry-red comforters pulled up
to my nose, socks on toes that fled
the cold floor. No glass over the screens
on the summer-house porch. No hiding
from block-buster rumble tumble.
Summer twilight gone to cannon-boom
over the Brule River where the heron picked
her way this morning though weeds.
Deaf gods stir aberrant winds, flaunt
clumsy dance steps, clap ham-handed
smack over our heads. We are the cowards
who witness weathered changes, crisis
of boom-barrages and skittish salvos
that make us weep and duck for cover.
Tricia Knoll is a Vermont eco-poet who lives in the deep woods. Published widely in journals, nine books of poetry are currently in print. This year’s are Wild Apples (moving 3,000 miles from Oregon to Vermont) and The Unknown Daughter (27 persona poems in the voices of people visiting the Tomb of the Unknown Daughter).
originally published at writtentales
