July 4, 2014 two poems and a storm

Thursday July 3 2014

After work, as the sky darkens,

I throw the doors  and windows open for the wind, for the clamoring chimes,

for the purification of motion.

I write this in the dark. I want to be part of it.

A storm is coming to this dry land, you can see it coming, lighting up corners of the darkened sky.

The cats, used to huddling in at night, venture tentatively, with my permission, looking back at the door in case I change my mind.

But I leave the door open. The wind enters. The lace curtain falls from the thick adobe windowsill.

What’s next , I hope, is rain, and more rain.

The train whistles. The cats are both out there. At the open curtain-less window, I say, before taking a place on the sofa, Welcome!

Friday July 4, 2014

Last night, I let the wind roam through my house,

turning things over, rattling pages. Announcing the coming rain.

Outside, the flag twisted and turned, but held.

I kept the lights dim, straining to read in the small glow,  a book about heaven.

Then, it came down,

came down,

came down,

pounding and rattling until I lost my bearings,

a pitiful woman holding a small book, on a stuffed white sofa,

rocking on high waters,

turned into a particle,

part of the wave, swirling around and yet still,

riding, my knees hunched, book in hand.

It came down,

and I saw that I am a part of it. All of it.

And you, too.

Today I walked through neighborhoods. I could make it up stairs, I could breathe deeply. A fresh scent permeated everything.

As I walked, I gave praise and thanks and humble nodding for my smallness and yet significance as part of the great story.

What are you doing, this day below heaven?

My son and his wife celebrate their marriage. People make noise. Big showers of color.

Yet last night, too, felt like independence, democracy.

The storm, the wind and lightning and thunder that precedes it; the different voices. Coming together aloud and each thing saying something. Then the rain. Then the quiet after.

Saying it strong, saying it well. Saying their song.

Each part necessary.


C Suzanne 2014

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7 Responses to July 4, 2014 two poems and a storm

  1. Georgine Stob says:

    OK Suzanne – there’s no other way to say it *@*?!** WONDERFUL!! I was there with the wind and the dark clouds and the rain and similarly threw open my doors to hear the full force of the rain hitting the earth like a slap that says “wake up”! Wonderful to hear your rendition and recounting of what we were both aware of. Where am I today?? Jerry and I sheet rocked the shed last weekend and today I spent working on finishing up screwing in the drywall screws, looking at the structure of the shop and working on setting things in place – for storage – cognizant of the structural challenges, lining things up right so as to share the load and not be unduly burdened. I bought a couple of storage units I had to put together – I put one together – and had to look at things and rearrange and look again – and finally at 4pm finished with that piece and came inside to have a bath in my new bathroom and delightfully, Amy Goodman had her hour devoted to recollections and replaying interviews with Pete Seegar. Prior to that they had, and I can’t think of his name right now, deep voiced black man actor well known, but name escapes me (age) reading Fredrick Douglas’ speech on the Independence Day of 18 something, powerful. Calling people up short for their hypocrisies, religious ignorance, political follies and prejudices – powerful. Tonight I’ll have some kind of a nice dinner for myself, and maybe, just maybe, if I feel up to it, climb the stairs to my studio and sit on the deck and watch the fireworks from a distance. The solitude is wonderful. The puttering around today is the depth of my being, my soul’s delight. The quiet and peace and lack of expectation to celebrate with anyone in any particular way, my soul’s delight. Peace to you my observant and sensitive friend. Enjoy this evening, this moment, this day. More to come!


  2. James Earl Jones?


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