Winter Forecast

© 2007 Photo by Sue Miller

The Jujube tree is barren already
except for a few dead leaves,
they waddle and sway with the wind
stringy as limp Irish moss.

Grey and white doves huddle
together, their fat bellies
overhang on each side
on mangled, dead branches
intermingled as cobwebs.

A cold front and overcast sky
mute activity if it weren't
for me scampering below it,
bundled in three layers
of clothing. Afternoon sprinkles,
biting cold, pierce my bones.

I'd much rather be cool
than blistering hot
as long as temps stay the same
and the rain lasts one day, I'm fine.

I dislike persisting rain
day after day, thermometer gauges
dropping down, down, down
until I wake up one morning,
find my car whiter with snow.

I can see it now when
I am late for work and drivers
here screech into nasty mishaps
because they know not how
to drive in it. I will brush off
the snow, drive slowly to work,

dodging wrecks and tow-trucks,
police cars with circular lights
and I hope to park near that
Jujube tree, resting in winter
its wicked limbs frozen, stiffer
than planks of grey steel.

March Storm

Thunder cracks the blackened sky,
dropping booms on this desert valley.
Sheets of pouring rain POUNDS
the one-peaked roof like a million
laser beams scarring thin tissue.
Run-off patters, dances off vents and gutters.

Wind howls through cracks and holes
like dragging buckets through a stormy sea.
Claps of thunder walk away momentous
blasts again southwesterly.
The tempest circles north, rides with devils
on grenades, rips through whirlwinds
and back out again, echoes through the Doña Anas.


(Note: Originally written in 2005. Revised in 2007.)

Daybreak

The wind whistled at the moon
      raked every star like leaves
the rain poured a million tears
      stretched a river in flowing veins
thunder cut the clouds in two
      black night closed a torn sky
the sun spoke daybreak
      trees catch the afternoon

Rain in August

I raise my window
God's musicians
play in the cooling rain
I listen

hearing
a steady waterfall
tinkle a running creek

raindrops rap in a bucket next door
as percussionists tap
timbales and tom-toms

combining different thump beats
booming base drums
hands ripple one finger at a time

I want to dance as I am--in the rain
like dancing on noisy cellophane
to crinkle at least for the night

the pail has its fill
drum taps take intermission
the sky keeps raining

rumbles echo from the southern sky
God's kettledrums
roar and fade as lions on hilltops
a timpani in God's symphony

POM-POM-POM-POM-POMMMMMM

Good sleeping weather
Goodnight