The sky has all the charm of a double homicide.
The black cloud above my car says to me:
“This will teach you for going out in this rain
with a five dollar umbrella.”
This light is balsamic, not illuminating the road
very well, but it is not dark enough make the
headlights effective. To my left, the storm cloud
curls its finger at me, it beckons repentance.
I drive on. Behind me in the rear-view, car lights
are diamonds against a seasick green horizon, a
green without a splinter of mercy. The wind picks
up and my eyes scan for a funnel.
Off to the east, where the dark has not yet surrounded
the leftover blue of day, thunderheads tickle the
ionosphere, glow angelically. Fat droplets fall, tears,
I believe – of all the sadness of this world gathers
into these mauling storms. The ones that throw-down
baseball-sized hail, crack windshields. Biblical stuff. The
sorrow, it has to go somewhere, I think. Then I comprehend
the punctuation of weather: if this dark-eyed storm is an
exclamation point, then that glowing thunderhead, the one
that stands majestically, resembling the archangel Michael,
replete with a broadsword and thirst for fighting,
that is God’s very own John Hancock.
Michael Biegner has had poems published in Blooms, Poetry Storehouse, Silver Birch Press, Silkworm, WordPeace, and the Poets To Come anthology, in honor of Walt Whitman’s 200th birthday. His prose poem, “When Walt Whitman Was A Little Girl,” was made into a video short by North Carolina filmmaker Jim Haverkamp, where it has competed at various film festivals around the world and is available for viewing on Vimeo. Michael was a finalist in the 2017 Northampton Arts Council Biennial Call To Artists.