Storm Front

The storm starts
in the most unlikely of places—
an archipelago of memos sends forth an arctic blast.

White sheets blow past desks and faces.
They fly boldly over coastlines
and across highways
then break with a loud clap.

Trees bend and snap
under such wind.
God’s will nod old men.

In the cities where the papers swirl
devastation is daily news.
Headlines spread out
like ink stains dark and thinning:
Low Pressure. High pressure.
All the systems of the world
have edges in the blue
where touched and untouched meet
and bruise.

Strange halos burst upon the pulp.
As cold rain falls
words swell and run.
Terrific cracks become the dull
and muddy sound of rage,
heaven’s high complaint,
and fear.

In paper piles and city squares
a space is being cleared.

Joel Hanisek is a second year M.Div. student. He is an Inquirer in the Presbyterian Church (USA) and is currently working on his first book of poems, Nothing Much.