I Run to the Basement

You are weather to me, or not. Tilt of earth
and sun: all things I can’t control are you. You’re sweat
and shiver, wet and hot and cold. I measure
time with your turns. I put on a coat for you. Your wind,
it winds around me. Your squalls wash over
and you move on. Each morning I wake to your eternal
forecast. You’re sleet and pressure, an azimuth
unknown. The threat of clouds is all you are.

Kim Suttell lives in New York City and can’t decide if her favorite tree is chestnut or linden. Some of her poems reside in Right Hand Pointing, Cleaver Magazine, The Cortland Review and other journals. Please visit them at http://page48.weebly.com.

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