Storm
Dark clouds kiss
the sky,
lay themselves down like a vixen waiting
to be ravaged.
Winds aloft are warm
like breath, but here
where I stand, it’s frozen.
Tiny, iced ball-bearings pelt
the earth and leave
striations of white
against my window.
Who gives a storm
a name as if it’s been invited
to tea?
For this unwelcome
guest I have infantries
of resistance and snipers
in the trees.
Behind the wild sky our cheeky
planet eclipses a full wolf
moon, and in the blackness
cosmic forces howl.
I feel, rather than hear,
their impact. I know
their intent.
My soldiers
are weary; urge me to stop
the war. I lay down
my arms.
N’oreaster winds blow
like a bellows on
the embers of
my heart.
— Jennifer Comeau
(Originally published in the 2022 anthology, “No Ordinary Words: The Real Life Wisdom of Women.”)