After Rain

By BRIAN SIMONEAU 

The wind comes warm as breath
and stirs me like laundry
on a line. Then it’s gone. Life
weaves itself together
from next to nothing;
it’s all these moments
I want, to take them in
before they’re taken away.
A patch of blue breaches clouds
the way green comes to winter
and the black of a raven’s
something I can hardly stand
the beauty of: unshadowed
or itself a shadow
untethered from things. It coasts
across the opening sky
on motionless wings
as if it too notices
a ray of light threading
its way into the world.

 

 

Originally from Lowell, Massachusetts, Brian Simoneau graduated from Amherst College and received an MFA at the University of Oregon. He lives in Connecticut with his wife and their two daughters. His first book of poems, River Bound (C&R Press 2014), won the De Novo Prize.
Emma CroweAfter Rain

Related Posts

Restaurant

At Dinner the Lady We Are with Makes a Joke about Mosquito-Borne Illness

SARAH CARSON
Someday we might also be that woman, or another woman, two women not on this side of the locked door, trying to contain ourselves, to keep the world inside the walls we’ve imagined hold us in. But tonight we are here. Tonight we are so unbelievably us. Tonight we are going to be just fine.

Budapest

The Hat

SCOTT LAUGHLIN
At this moment, it is night in Budapest, and a woman has left her hat in a restaurant. This restaurant is in Buda, yet she is already crossing the bridge into Pest. Yes—perhaps you didn't know—Budapest is not one place but two places split by a river. Like the woman separated from her hat. Perhaps we are all schizophrenics.

demonstration

Nobody’s Home

ELLEN BIRKETT MORRIS
Around two hundred of us, young and old, parents and children, stand in front of our senator’s condo. The road is blocked on either side by police cars, who mute their lights so they don’t hurt our eyes.