Wind whispers my name.
It calls me to ride with petals and leaves.
It dusts me with pollen and wisteria.
The azaleas’ trumpets droop, fatigued.
Chickens eat flowering weeds—sour—
a sharp yellow note in their beaks.
Thunder takes it stance, ready to box.
Ol’ William walks by with his ragged gait,
making his way to St. Mary’s.
Thunder retreats to its corner.
Overcast day. Heavy, wet air.
The birthday will pass with no notice.
If Wind would stop, I could hear what it’s saying—
it’s all cackalacky to me.
The nitid sunshine of youth has gone.
The old tree bends. When comes the storm?
I open my wings to say Yes, I’ll dance.
Wind calls her by name—The Daughter,
The Eldest, The Poet—all names at once.
Oh, she will fly beyond her dreams.
The eloquent breeze knows her name.
Kom hit, kom hit, kom hit, kära.
Wind picks me up, and the pink azaleas.
Wind carries us home.

***

The Day 29 prompt from NaPoWriMo was to follow Jim Simmerman’s Twenty Little Poetry Projects. Some explanations:

• cackalacky=Apparently this is a nickname for Carolina, origin unknown. To me, it sounds like the equivalent of “gibberish.”
• nitid=bright, lustrous, shining, polished, glossy
• Kom hit, kom hit, kom hit, kära. = Swedish for Come here, come here, come here, dear.