Weather Report
Before the hurricane
the pewter air is still
as the pewter mugs
on the kitchen shelf
in the house where we were raised.
They were not used a single time,
though once I took one down
to feel its heft and was surprised
to see the bottom
was made of glass
like a diver’s mask and so I held it
to my eyes and looked
at our kitchen
through the mug’s dusty window
which dulled the red linoleum counter,
made it seem distant,
like someone else’s kitchen.
And out my window now,
the air sits motionless as a child
in a chair, overcome by sadness,
her feet do not touch the ground,
hang perfectly still.
And the tall maples seem unfamiliar
as though they had secretly
unhitched or were unhitching
from what we know of trees.
Though they say the hurricane
will not ravage here, just heavier
than usual rain and wind.