The Calm After the Storm
The clock swings back around to pacific midnight
Welcome, and a warm first hello to the newcomers!
I’m so happy you’re here.
Each of these Sunday poems center loosely around a tarot card, and this week we’re checking in with the Star.
This card reminds me that there is always calm after the storm.
Additionally, this week’s poem is a follow-up to one I wrote a little while ago. You can find Part I here:
PACIFIC MIDNIGHT, PART II At pacific midnight, the air stops thrusting into my ears: The drums and gongs cease their pounding, And the doe inside my heart pauses her sprint to drink from a pond where she can’t be seen. What is the opposite of alarm? I like to think it’s a golden bubble bath, water Perfectly hot-warm to slip underneath and between, No blaring jangle curling the soft cilia, No shapes of sound waves that could be mistaken for a widow’s keen, Only the comfort and protection of a woman-unbothered. At pacific midnight, I come to no harm: I find the words to explain what I mean, And I set them against the walls, rebounding. I wash my feet and release all my fears.
Did you know I have a podcast now? Check out the latest episode:
From my experience, I would tend to agree with you about that, haha. Really nice poem. The spoken word is one of the purest art forms.
Lovely. The first and last stanzas just sing.