The Sound After Thunder

by | Jun 20, 2011 | Blog, My Poems

“So go then,” she said,
referring to the way the river

was drained
of water.

Your front porch was filled

with wind chimes,

the corners of the deck,
filling your house

with hollow sounds.

One day your belongings

to disappear.

Windows opened –
latch-less –

let in the low drones

an empty fish bowl
of river water.

You disappear,

leaving an empty chair

for the mortician
to prepare,

broken kite strings
on the legs.