by Ann McNeal


You live
For the high windy days
When clouds tumble like metaphors
Across your mind
July evenings with so many
Hermit thrushes their song
Lines tangle in the air

The rest of the days, rain
Or else heat and humility
Sticky weather
Thighs to chair
Paper to itself
Images to gray pavement
You struggle to survive
The rain-slant of November
Mud of April
Each day with
Its own mocking

-originally appeared in Patchwork Journal, Issue 4, 2004.