Poem by Ellen Stone
May 15, 2023
A storm coming from far off
My dull metal sweater, heart poured open emptied shallow as a narrow puddle. I packed without it, left with the slightest jacket full of feathers. Saw the flatlands, prairie. Knew the bluestem there would keep me rooted deep. How I could see a storm coming from far off, longways into twilight. So much time before rain came, I could get ready. On my little porch in Kansas, I sat through a thunderstorm to see what would happen. Held on stubborn, shellacked and pelted. Became a yellow thing and floated overhead while the wind bore down and tried to tear up all the furniture. I kept on—wanting to believe in aftermaths. Then settled back to earth a summer bird sinking into the garden. Back there singing while the sky cleared up as if nothing had really happened—the bumpy street filled with shrapnel from the solitary elm.
About Ellen Stone
Ellen Stone advises a poetry club at Community High School in Ann Arbor, Michigan and co-hosts the monthly poetry series Skazat!. She is the author of What Is in the Blood (Mayapple Press, 2020).