I was working outside when an approaching storm sent me in. It made me think of another kind of storm.
It is not a Storm
Sunshine shatters; sudden calm enshrouds.
Black clouds billow into fierce towers.
Why do you pretend not to see?
The storm is coming.
It is not normal.
Your windows are full of approaching
you languidly close the blinds.
The storm rolls across the barren fields.
Don’t talk about it.
Can’t frighten people
with false alarms.
This will blow over, like every other storm.
But--it is not every other storm
Our skies do not come in that shade of green.
It is the beginning of the great storm.
You stuff your ears with cotton
so the sirens will not bother your slumber.
You do not listen.
You do not heed the warnings.
You do not warn others.
“It is not a storm,” you repeat.
“It is not a storm.”
Until the hour it comes.