Beverly Patterson

Just Wind
Clouds hover
in a violet sky
though our eyes
see blue
from a distance
most houses
look peaceful
but the pants
don't fit
shirt tails beg
your pardon
we are helpless
as trees when leaves
drop
and scatter
in these thoughts
there’s no head
and the pocket watch
has been discarded
prop up
ladders so you don’t
walk under
dig, rake, stare
secure windows
and doors—
what you let in
you might end up
feeding
ABOUT THIS POEM
Anais Nin said, “We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.” This poem, in many ways, speaks to that point. From a subjective point of view, the reality we experience is “clouded” by our assumptions, biases and anxieties.
Wind is a natural source of white noise and the sound it makes is the friction of it blowing against or passing through something. When you read the poem out loud, notice the wind in your words: the pronunciation of the /s/ sounds ("sky," "eyes," "trees," and "leaves”) produced by the push of air past the roof of your mouth, tip of your tongue and teeth; the /h/ sounds ("hover,", "houses," "head") from air passing through an open throat and mouth; the /b/ and /p/ sounds ("blue," "but," "beg," and "pants," "pardon," and "prop") produced by the release of small bursts of air from closed lips.