Stormy Day
by Michael Escoubas

What are these bronze leaves
damp from last night’s storm

streetlamps shining
like ghosts in gray shadows

white ducks waddling
about the gray pavement

ominous battleship hills
blending in with tormented

black and blue clouds
shrouding the shoreline?

As I pull my slicker tight
around my chest and neck

this stormy day reminds me
there is a kind of welcoming

even in silent shadows
even in limp leaves strewn

by wind on wet benches—
tomorrow clouds will dissipate

there will be sun and warmth
in a never-ending flow of grace—

redemption I might have missed
if not for you, beloved stormy day.

Return to: