A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
Wind tore at trees outside the window.
Shreds of leaves and bits of twig
clicked at the glass all day.
There was nothing to be done
and little we could do: the clatter
interrupted every chore
and even the little pleasures we had.
We could only ride it out and,
the next morning, rake up the mess.
Copyright Michael T. Young. First published in The Cortland Review. Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.