Like the ruby hibiscus,
hoarding sunlight,
the evening sky furls.
Petals laden with rain,
it curls in on itself,
and the birds fall silent.
We wait for that first drop,
the burst that follows,
sending spray through our
window screens and
faithful fans, always running.
An almost-August storm,
borne in on a southern wind
from down the valley,
not mountain-split this time.
We’ll witness the full brunt
of its clamor and crashing
downpours, feet up
on the porch railing, leaning
into each other, knowing
only in our bones how it was
when February paused here,
shook herself, and filled
our narrow street with snow.
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
Photo: Andrew Dunn
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