(First published in SpeedPoets Zine, June 2010)

Nephology


My hands are covered in cloud,

cumulus and moist


from a morning's work


shaping images amongst the sky.

I've left puffy fingerprints

in Volkswagens and wheelbarrows,

my Grandmother's favourite urn,


dragons, rabbits, and the face of Jesus.



(He raised a cloudy eyebrow

at my artless portrayal

and floated airily away)

I mould with the grass at my back

until prayers on their way to God

turn stratocumulus to nimbostratus


and an outstretched cow rains misery upon me.

I stand, wearing the blurred horizon

awkwardly like a warped hoop-skirt,

dodging wet bullets of despair


as I stumble for shelter.



My perspective is now 90º wrong


and no matter how I pull and twist


life is not pliable from this angle

and so I wipe my hands, and wait.

© Joanne Johns 2009. Licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0