12 July 2014

Intemperate Weather

intemperate weather, blowing your
chill breath on the back of

her neck, the cataracts and
thrum of hurricanoes above her

head, waiting, perched on a
sleety step, for the postman

to deliver slim envelopes, each
one carrying sad, sodden words

of her unsuitability, unfitness,
the dismal forecast spread out

on slips of paper destined for
the rubbish bin as
the sun stutters, finally,
to the sky, the bells

ring out at noon,
granting her the
grace of sunshine

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