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Twelve Ways to Know the Wind
by Linda Jean Thomas

1.
A patio umbrella
inhales and exhales,
a wasp nest bobs beneath.

2.
The leaves on an oak tree
shush a bragging blue jay.

3.
A circus of white elephants
sails through the air,
stage left to stage right.

4.
Drops of water
miss a fountain’s basin,
but ping, ping, ping
the metal rim.

5.
Beach sand
is swept
into eyes,
onto blankets,
across stomachs.

6.
A wedding veil lifts
to reveal the kissable,
bare shoulder of a bride.

7.
A hawk glides,
wings wide and still.

8.
Hair in your face, in your eyes,
in your mouth.

9.
Geraniums tremble
in window boxes
as a storm nears.

10.
Your head bowed,
into an invisible wall,
two steps forward,
one back.

11.
Branches covered in ice
fling pieces, like shattered glass,
against the house all night.

12.
You are five.
You see your mother’s ankles
below the sheets on the line.
Suddenly, you see her thighs.

Copyright 2007 by Linda J. Thomas