Another stormy night in their neighborhood
a warning came for twisters, hail and fire
no one said anything about ghosts in the dark.
Eerie hours when the clocks have failed
and all seem to have stepped over to the other side
he finds himself looking for a way home.
But it was day and the light died somewhere above
beyond the plywood windows of abandoned lives
silent and gray as if moved by the air of tombs.
He wonders solitary in the dense darkness
whether these souls will assail him now
trapped in prisons without addresses.
Nothing stirs not a sparrow nor a wolf
the grass too is still after the heavy winds yet
close to the warmth of the offspring she dreams.
Every moment here is laden with black rains
homes ravaged by infernal flames
inhabitants frozen in a state of eternal shock.
Boarded up fancies near frigid hearths
they are as cardboard boxes as ancient citadels
to cast their threatening shadows upon the world.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.
