Cold Front

Cold Front

The storm system sags East,
a crotchety old lady leaning back
ever so slowly, she folds her form
into an aged hickory rocking chair—
her spine in an acute uncomfortable
osteoporotic curve.

She raps her cane on my porch rail.
In a spattering of hail, knocks on my door.
I slam it close, refuse to listen to
her words of lament,
complaints about her many aches
brought on by low barometric pressure,
the swelling of joints in south humid air..

The lightning rides her words,
punctuates her comments…
She sits, knits, rocks
and lets it all pour out—
a long soaking rain
that floods my open casement windows,
soaks the floors of my arid heart…

c. Darlene Moore Berg

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4 Comments

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4 responses to “Cold Front

  1. Hi Darlene, I like how you tell the story in your poem. Also brings back the blessings of the caregiving years with my mother. It was my privilege often to explain who she was on earth to other people–to separate expressions of pain and frustration from her identity. Love the last verse!

    Blessings, Ellen

  2. used bucket trucks)

    used bucket trucks) Nice read. I’ve had some trouble subscribing to your RSS feed, though. I had a similar problem on my blog about bucket trucks and it had to do with the blog platform. Anyway, keep up the good work!

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