Thunderstorm in February

Broken

Are the winter-white skies,

Broken and desolate

Like my heart.

Beat, dull-fingered rain,

No-silver-singing rain,

Beat upon this heart’s blanched windows

Like multiple hammers

On an empty drum.

No tinkle in you now –

Flat now –

Stolen the music

On the rolling rim

Of each drop

Falling.

Sound, thunder!

Cut, lightening,

Sharp and shrill!

Cut like the sharp,

Shrill blade

Of a saw.

Make way for spring –

Carve a path in my heart

For spring –

Spring, throbbing

In sky as a room throbs

When a cello

Stops singing.

Burn me!

Burn winter’s shadows

From my heart.

Evelyn Coffey