Haboob Season
It traps us inside
Dust in the streets, Dust in the air,
the sky a haze of red and brown
the wind gusts and howls
the dirt fills the world,
fills your house, your car,
your mouth, your lungs.
We live in the dust bowl
We never left.
This year, the sky is grey, the streets white
The dust is tucked in under sheets of ice,
blankets of snow
The snow does not fall here though,
ice does not settle,
it pelts; it drives; it bites.
Snow surges across roads,
Streaks sideways through the sky
as if gravity has shifted.
The winds of West Texas
do not care what they blow
But they blow without end
dirt
ice
snow
We live in the dust bowl
We never left...
We put cotton on top of it
And wait for the wind
to settle
I love this poem and your use of line breaks, especial the dirt - ice - snow breaks at the bottom. I could really see the dust bowl. Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteMy mom's folks were from Eastern New Mexico and West Texas. I was immediately back in my grandmother's living room listening to her tell stories about West Texas weather while reading your poem. Loved it--especially:
ReplyDeleteThe snow does not fall here though,
ice does not settle,
it pelts; it drives; it bites.
Morgan, I love "poetry posts"! My favorite stanzas are the last two. What a great way to visualize the weather! Happy slicing! (Oh, and I think the title of your blog is clever!)
ReplyDeleteThanks!! Thinking of a name was probably the hardest part of this challenge so far!! I am still kind of toying around with poetry posts. I have a hard time breaking away from everything needing to rhyme and have a specific rhythm and look. learning every day!
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