Poetry

Weather warning

The cloud got off the bus, black and heavy

with rumbles already rippling across it.

It had started out light, peaceful cotton,

but was soon forced to drift into a haze of vapour.

Words began to weigh it down

and the darkness spread as lightning grew in its belly.

When finally it stepped through the threshold to home,

the crackles broke out and kicked down the flood gates,

roaring all the while.

 

After, free of all it’d carried,

it settled into a cosy nook of sky

next to the sun’s evening rays,

not a touch of storm in its makeup.

Poetry

Opaque

What’s in a shadow? Can we

take it apart, unzip it and spill

its innards on the ground?

Do you think there’ll be bits of memory,

chunks of ourselves that we’ve tried to bury?

You say a shadow is just a space

that the light can’t get to.

That’s what I mean. If

we bury something, light can’t

get to it. You might be right. I

might be, too.