SANDY LONGHORN

Dispatch From the Outpost

Distant one—today the weather
will not cooperate, will not stay put
in proper April, but lurches backwards
cold and gray. The birds do not take notice.
A meadowlark emerges from the brush,
sparrows cluster under the sweet gum,
and finches feed on the wild thistle.
Here, I am in the company of wings.

Along this marsh, I have space
to walk and unravel what I want to say.
This is the thinning-down time, month
of thunder and hail and half-finished meals.
Days ago, the wind knocked down the power
lines, arcing sparks that fireworked the sky.
The house went mute, and I was alone
in the silence that lives under the silence
of a one-bedroom home.
Here, the world is all wait and want,
patience, the charm you tied around my wrist.

And this—consider on your return
that every season finds us changed.  

   Contributor’s notes
   Winter Psalm

return to top