After the Storm
Then dark stains bloom on the wallpaper
around the windows.
Through the clouded pane of the kitchen door
a changed world—
water running down the alley,
hailstones collected in low places,
garden mud beaten to a froth,
poppies tossed like salad greens,
fruited tops of tomato plants
to the wind’s geometry.
Battered onions fill the air with their sighs.
And now, tonight,
after the storm,
rising from the heavy grass,
the first fireflies of summer.
Editor’s Note: The space and imagery in this poem drive home both the destructive power of a storm, and the sweet, quiet aftermath.
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