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How I feel about the Storm

Smacholdt's picture

I thought that this poem fit nicely with both feminism and the environment, since it’s a pretty accurate representation of Sandy, and written by Adrienne Rich.

Storm Warnings

The glass has been falling all the afternoon,

And knowing better than the instrument 

What winds are walking overhead, what zone 

Of grey unrest is moving across the land,

I leave the book upon a pillowed chair

And walk from window to closed window, watching 

Boughs strain against the sky


And think again, as often when the air

Moves inward toward a silent core of waiting,

How with a single purpose time has traveled 

By secret currents of the undiscerned

Into this polar realm. Weather abroad

And weather in the heart alike come on 

Regardless of prediction.


Between foreseeing and averting change

Lies all the mastery of elements 

Which clocks and weatherglasses cannot alter. 

Time in the hand is not control of time,

Nor shattered fragments of an instrument

A proof against the wind; the wind will rise,

We can only close the shutters.


I draw the curtains as the sky goes black 

And set a match to candles sheathed in glass

Against the keyhole draught, the insistent whine

Of weather through the unsealed aperture.

This is our sole defense against the season; 

These are the things we have learned to do

Who live in troubled regions.