Winter Storm by Sharon Waller Knutson

Like a woman mourning

her dead baby, the wind

whines, wails and waves

the branches of the birch

as she weeps and bends,

begging for mercy. Stray

leaves fly like bats

against a drab sky.

The Ponderosa Pine

shrugs and sways

its shaggy arms

as thunder claps

its heavy hands.

Lightning fingers

flash and point

at the window.

I huddle in the office

wondering if she’s up there

warning us we did

something wrong

when I see a piece

of blue sky peeking

behind the cottony

white curtain of clouds.

Suddenly the sun

smiles, all is quiet

and I reckon she

thinks we did something

right and we lift

the lamb roast

and the potatoes

and vegetables

out of the oven

and say our blessings.

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Sharon Waller Knutson is a retired journalist who lives in Arizona. She has published several poetry books including My Grandmother Smokes Chesterfields (Flutter Press 2014) and What the Clairvoyant Doesn’t Say and Trials & Tribulations of Sports Bob (Kelsay Books 2021.)  Her work has also appeared in One Art, Mad Swirl The Drabble,, Gleam,, Spillwords, Muddy River Review, Verse-Virtual, Your Daily Poem, Red Eft Review, Five-Three and The Song Is…