by Elsa Johnson

A Simple Poem about Whether

How I love      a growling sky                                            after the grey

cloud dragons have slipped in                     stealthy                on their

thick     padded      feet     —      so many of them                  crowding

together                                They are alchemists                   conjuring

weather                           muttering guttural spells                   arguing                          

over whether                                             to send down sheets of rain

  /       walls of sleet        /                                      or merely a damping

dribble           Who should start the wind machine?                 Should

it stroke cheeks    /    or crack stone?                 caress trees    /     or

crush them?            harrow birds ?      oh yes !     —   and harry them             

How much     and where          —        all      the whethers of weather                                   

I love             the gravel                of their                    muffled ire      —                   

their mounded shapes                         But see    —    they can’t agree          

They’re              stealing away                                 down sky corridors