I’m waiting in a car the wind
intense I can hear it through the eucalyptus
leaves that clatter I stare at the grasses
and leafy greens wildly bending in one
direction as the wind whips them.
the car sways persuasively so that
I know this is a real wind storm
a strong heavy reverberation that
the tribes of pelicans I just saw over the
sea green waves struggled against.
when the sunlight hits my hand it leaves
fragments of its light embedded in my
skin so that I can see at night into
a crow flaps courageously but it can’t
move forward it’s forced to linger in one spot
even when it drops down closer to the
still it remains stationary to the
onslaught of the wind finally
it shifts gear the wind has shifted enough
for it to swing sideways diagonally
across the sky and over my head as
I look out the car window.
A woman gets into her car next to mine
with a mask on and as she pulls out she leaves
a trail of her anguished inner life lying
bereft on the road.
waiting as shadows of wild arcing leaves
flicker across my chest and the scarf
I’m wearing gets light then dark.
Time left us many years ago in the rice
paddies of India. I don’t mind waiting
the wind hasn’t let up. It’s March.
– Deborah Kerner