Thunderstorm in January not
the thing one expects not here
at least not in the Heartland &
I being of romantic nature like
to imagine it portends a Thing
that is equally unexpected possibly
poetic in the offing perhaps
a Thing of Rare Beauty about
to transpire a Something Unfolding
to uplift the hearts of the many
who are troubled a thing like
an orchid blooming on the scale
of maybe a tsumani yes a tropical
storm sized blooming of the earth.
No sun today no tiny speck of sun
that is to say no ball or ray that I can see
just piles and piles miles and miles
of cloud looking so heavy one
would think it might all fall
to the earth at any moment in
giant blobs and blankets
impenetrable
lying heavily over All
stopping All in our tracks
offering a perfectly good excuse
for eating sleeping and reading
this whole day right away.
Ferocious wind blows as if for
the Day of Reckoning and it is
January again after being April
the last few days. I would like
to change my own identity too
as well as readily from one day
to the next.
Marilyn Monroe Monday
Julia Child on Tuesday
Jane Austen for Wednesday
Marie Curie on Thursday
Maira Kalman Friday and Saturday
Anna Pavlova on Sunday
all only -esque of course
my own real self at the core
changing only my bent
my joie de vivre my passions
attitude attentions and affections
for one thing and another and that
certain way of being in the world.
Actually it sounds exhausting so maybe
I’d just as soon carry on as always
striving to be better rather than wildly
different since after all we do all shake
our heads at this crazy weather.
January one day April the next and
January again after that. And I
wouldn’t want to give anyone a cold.