The swifts have weaned their young
and those the cat didn’t get
are gunning for Africa.
Perhaps they get caught
in the nets of our Italian songbird
lovers. They like them grilled.
Smoke columns rise at various
points across the flats and hills.
The farmers are burning off the old chaff
and sometimes a few hectares of
precious woodland.
Yesterday a tornado ripped
across the open land and took
umbrage at our apple tree:
split off half of it in a rage hardly
ever seen that far East
of Tornado Alley.
A month ago, summer still
stretched languidly by the side
of the pool, and I would compete
with my friendly wasps for
a breakfast of figs among
big-handed leaves.
As they tumble and stumble
even the rose petals whisper
to no-one in particular: beware
of the lion of winter. Stick out
your tongue. Taste that first edge
of the crystal knife announcing its
return. Make sure your barn
is full of firewood.
Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru, and author of two novels as well as eight poetry collections. Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry reviews (online and print). She is a ‘Pushcart’ and ‘Best of Net’ nominee. Her eighth book, LIFE STUFF, has been published by Kelsay Books (November 2023). View her website here.
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