Monday Poem

Fresh Brim-Feather

Inside the eye of a new storm
are you lost? came the question;
came as a little nesting tornado, a
windy Matryoshka tucked
naturally within another;
a wind like the tiny tempests
that lift street leaves from gutters in fall
—a miniscule funnel by standards of
Tornado Alley but
if you’re small (as small
as a small thought)
the small question,
are you lost in this new storm?
is as mighty as a tsunami
gathered on a beach at your feet
its humping, horizon-lifting wave
poised in the instant before
yesterday-would-be-better

—then-there
in the shutter-click before
it rakes the landscape,
in the time before
too-late

……………. still

inside the eye of this new storm
everything’s familiar;
the heavens have not issued
new revelations
(news is always old-hat
but with a fresh brim-feather)
love and hate are ghosts with heartbeats
eternal as new babes, and
to be lost in a new storm
is as natural as breath & death
.

by Jim Culleny
3/11/12