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On a Windy Day
March 2, 2018
The wind howls,
Its song foreign to me,
Making me forget I have places to be.
Its song is not sweet
But bitter as can be,
With a beauty that is not foreign to me.
A destructive beauty, this wind
Rife with potential to break,
Yet only making an ache.
I try to understand
What it’s singing, this wind
But never quite, if only I’d never sinned.
The wind howls
Dark nothings to me,
Telling me I don’t have places to be.
© Susan R., Iselin, NJ
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