Shelter

Sept. 18: Dangerous conditions today on the Tennessee River.

The wind struggles with the current; the water churns behind the pylons.

Even the sky is in turmoil.

 

I am the surface of the water. I am broken; a fractured frame of glass,

stretched thin from shore to shore. All I can hear is the wind tearing

upstream, toward my home.

 

The furniture in the living room rearranges to accommodate the flood.

Soon we will live in an aquarium with glass walls, so all can see:

we are bent by the current.

 

(Slowly, with time)

 

5:35 pm; I can hear the blood pulsing in the veins behind my ears.

The wind has died down, and all besides that steadfast throb is quiet.

I am alive; I am a being.

The Day Spring Came Early

Golden light sprawls from our feet

like the sun’s roots as we walk in the morning,

while the air is still rubbing sleep from its eyes

and blooming trees push out their leaves

to adjust to the undue brightness.

 

Seedlings of grass burst with joy

from our chest and laugh with us

as they break the permafrost

to spread sunlight through the soil.

 

Glory. O! Glorious exultation is the air

that fills our lungs: fresh cut grass glued

to the skin by sweet smelling sweat

spent for the glory of another.

 

O! how tumultuous is the song of selfless Spring;

sung by sparrows, beeches and our browning skin!