It Was Written

It blew pungent—

the kind of squall that caused

a shiver to rise,

compelling your great aunt

to set down her teacup

with a slow shake of the head,

knowing, in octogenarian bones,

nothing good could come

of this change

in the weather.

It birthed dust devils

that played tag

among mossy tombstones

in the long-neglected cemetery

at the end of the weedy lane.

Entombed, restless ancestors

mourned their kith’s failure

to pay proper

homage.

Making its way

down the main drag of town,

through the best neighborhoods,

it rattled iron gates

and clapboard shutters.

Weathervanes spun wildly

in gusts devoid

of identifiable direction.

While dogs whined and barked

at an invisible intruder,

the author laid down her pen

to let the ink dry—

allowing the tempest

to ravage her world

a bit longer.