Hearing Arizona

Posted: August 7, 2010 in My Poetry
Tags: , , ,

August is monsoon season.
It keeps a schedule, unlike me.
Rain comes fast and steam rises
like a surprised exhalation.
I hear my own breath
under the raspy cough
of the storm.

Hammock,
once boldly striped,
now sun-bleached white,
like bones;
bare feet against warm cement:
wet curves around the pool.

I listen to the storm;
my own voice blending in;
I say nothing but communicate
with ancient, formal rhythm.

I came to this life unwillingly,
I recognize lament,
share the storm’s frustration.

Rain taps loudly on a paint can,
impatient like a finger.
On the roof, it’s drumming, and
sluicing off the walls.

The wind sounds rushed
like it’s hurrying.
Thunder’s powerful
tearing, growls under my heels.

I could be this storm
if I kept a better schedule.

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Comments
  1. heather says:

    “Impatient like a finger”
    Very descriptive, I can see it. Nice work!

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