I swim in weather
By Marge Piercy
Spring arrives from the bottom up —
skunk cabbage in the shady wet
lands, species crocus.
Fallís from the top down. Crowns
of sugar maple — bare bones, lower
branches sing orange, gold.
Summer comes with a slap
of moist heat. The air burns
bright. I droop.
Winter seeps down from Canada
a knife in its teeth. Plants wither
even weeds crumple.
Biggest storms roar in off the sea
shake us, break trees, rattle houses.
Giants that can crush.
Sometimes in January a southern
wind soft as a down pillow embraces
us, a promise out of season.
Here weather matters: encourages
crops or kills them, lets fishermen
go safely to sea or drowns them.
Since I left cities decades ago
rain, sun, snow, moon, wind:
they impinge, shelter, and attack.
Copyright © 2020 by Marge Piercy.