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Wichita II
by Alison McKenzieThe trees here are
Stoic -
Ripped at by a wind
Whose language is, to me, foreign.
I incline my attention toward,
Wait -
Careful, lest I miss my name
On its breath.
Alas, it is not spoken,
Lost
In a ‘nether world
Surely meant for others.
Gravity sends the rain here, too,
Laden -
Almost like everywhere else
I’ve ever been.
But it falls to the dust
Flat -
Gathers in apathetic,
Powdery, soil-crusted rivulets.
My spirit strains to catch some melody
Still –
Finds instead a symphony
Muted by unfamiliar souls.
I have never encountered a land so
Passive –
And even with my great girth,
I will leave no impression.
10/08/2011 Author's Note: I am unaccustomed to this encounter with a wind that does not seem to know me.
Posted on 10/09/2011
Copyright © 2024 Alison McKenzie
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Shannon McEwen on 10/09/11 at 04:32 AM With your poem you just did leave an impression, here long after the rain stops and the wind stills. I like the visuals here. |
| Posted by Amie Golda on 10/09/11 at 10:19 AM A fitting scene to describe where I am, literally physically right now. It's raining and there are trees and wind haha. Makes me more contemplative of my surroundings though, despite my mood. Thanks for the fresh perspective for my over-fatigued mind. |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 10/09/11 at 02:06 PM ... nice.... |
| Posted by Mo Couts on 10/09/11 at 08:54 PM It doesn't know you yet...but it will. As always, this is beautiful. |
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