Storm Song

Lindsay Turner

There’s a tree has a beautiful neck
In the canal bobs the squall like a swan
Not enough room under the arch
           is the situation
The wind came up behind me on the walk—
           black distances
All the room in the world’s hard to think about

There’s a white plastic chair like a swan
Stuck between image and rhetoric it’s loud
Stuck with blankets full of water—
           what kind of power
Wipe it out, Dawn, like a debt—
           or just fix it up yourself
A squall with a situation at its back

But what if it’s an actual swan
Batted my lashes a few times at the ocean
Couldn’t turn around and go back if we wanted to—
           like handfuls of gravel
The storm couldn’t turn around if it wanted to—
           is what it is
Couldn’t turn around and go back if it wanted to