From Our Almanac
- Ann Birch
- Sep 3
- 1 min read
A poem by Ann Birch
We weather you.
Your changes are the subject of reports.
We compare notes on your storms and temperatures.
In another home, somebody else is the weather.
If you met, fronts would collide.
People would tie down their treasures and
Breathe easier when you had blown through.
To flourish, we should choose our zones,
Like maps on the backs of seed packets that divide
The country west to east in stripes of
Blue, purple, orange and green to show
When seeds are safe to plant.
Tell me your zone, your color.
I’ll know where not to put down roots.
Ann Birch is an octogenarian living in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Her work appears in a variety of small online and print magazines.
Image:
Storm front by Lucy Chian
So vivid and beautiful. Soothing to the soul...Poetry so much better than Prozac. :).