Poem April 2020

From Our House Behind the Churchyard, After a Storm

An hour after the storm, tree

limbs still sway, their green-leafed

twigs moving like the limbs

of swimmers in a sapphire sea.

Thunder booms in the distance

but they go on waving,

as if the lightning and the rain

are dear friends, departing. Beams

of brilliant light make gold

the ground and polish the branches

as puddles glitter beneath blades

of grass, silently sipping.

And high above the skittering

clouds, a red-tailed hawk circles

the churchyard, its wings

cupping the sodden, cerulean air

like a parishioner reaching

for a communal cup of wine.

— Terri Kirby Erickson

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