we are the storm

sweat gathering at my temples
the bridge of my nose
and rolling down
while i wipe with a short sleeve
and continue  weaving tomato vines
into the trellis
working my way down the row
until my arms are red with temporary irritation
and my fingers are coated in
the tomato tar green which will turn black upon washing


i read the day right i say
about deciding to wake and work
(tomato beds)
instead of waking and writing
because the storm that rolled in
after i strung up two beds of trellising
allowed me to write
after 10am


rachel and i lying
on the rug under the ceiling fan
a tennis ball under my hip
the sweat on our skin/clothes


the sky i exclaim while
we drive over to d.r.
pale but glowing
the quality of haze
that veils the sun
so it is orange and fuzzy edged and
coated enough to look at directly
and the clouds that edge around in
pastels, gilded edges
some soft some hard
layered and smudged


never heard thunder like that before
i say looking skyward about the sound rolling above us
in the gravel parking lot
sound that moves but doesn’t stop
(a constancy similar to lightning
that moves from cloud to cloud)


we are the storm
the sky’s been waiting for
i say sitting in the bay window at
sharon and dennis’s robinia
after we realize
the mighty storm whose approach we read in the sky
never appeared


marshmallow tax i say
for the cutter of the s’mores pie


snack luck table:
s’mores pie
lemon lime with ice
mint tea
berries and dried apricots
and speakers projecting out the
quietwarm softslow playlist


in the round of
imaginary gift-giving
(for a 40th and for a departure)
i hand over the prairie/bird vision/sound glasses


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