Summer Storm
I hold it: water in my hands,
those bright amber days
of cinnamon and scarlet
that have known every shadow of me.
I am awash
on thunder-beaten shores, an exile
from the season that was home.
I see this now: the sharpest of summer storms
making an opera stage of my windowpane,
the trees like I have never seen:
crow black knives against a white flash of sky:
—There—then gone—
—There—then gone—
Specters fading in and out—in and out—
wardens of a stormier, warmer world
that my body knows
but my mind rows—and evades—
rows—and evades—in the rising waters.
I see it now: the sky bellows,
opens—wide, as a world—
the windows welcome voids
into my childhood bedroom,
the roof—gapes—
as this house groans
and gives way beneath me.
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Elyza Bruce is a senior at Georgetown University studying English literature and environmental studies. She is currently the Co-Editor-in-Chief of The Anthem, Georgetown’s literary arts magazine. She is from Woodbury, CT.
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Stone Poetry Quarterly 