Storm Eye

Deciding Whether I Like the Radar

This is – fair advisory –
the province of the weather-addled
and it’s a day when the gray sky
stutters, “s s s snow,” and its pillows
swell in the pines. That should be
enough, even as the first stir
of east wind sheds a fine cloud
from the hemlock’s limber finger.

I should sit easily
in this long white instant, enjoy,
as they say, the day. But
I wonder. To the east
the sea that winter can’t calm
mumbles, exhales foggy, salty, warm
and might it, I wonder,
wet my day yet? I go

I go to the radar and
look down through its lashless eye,
look over the whole region
and see where the pure blue snow
borders with half-happy pink and where
dark green rain obliterates
even the islands. That seam, for instance,
splitting the midsection of Peaks Island
may be bad news: if

I check again in ten minutes
it may have wobbled east
drawn near. And then
I think this must be what it’s like
to be a minor god
or the seer of Thebes…or an academic…
all eye, no hands
in the day.

 

1 Comment

Filed under General, The Roost

One Response to Storm Eye

  1. Barbara Ghoshal

    Love this poem, except for the word “half-breed” which carries so much baggage (look it up), that it totally distracts from the rest. It least that’s how it seems to me…others may not be so sensitive. But really, the poem is a pleasure to read and think about, otherwise.