All that Remains

Sarah Russell

Just had THREE poems picked up at the wonderful Rusty Truck. Thanks, Scot! Here’s the first one.

All that Remains

I rush upstairs when it starts, rain and wind
pummeling the old apple tree, branches cracking.

I had opened the windows wide this morning—
airing out, Mom called it—letting the stale of winter

escape into April. Now this—a storm threshing
the forsythia, shredding yellow blossoms on the lawn.

The landscape blurs through windows as I close them,
drops filling small pores in the screens, collecting dust

in muddy puddles on the sill. There’d been a storm like this
the day Mom was buried. It hurried the pastor’s homily,

made a mire of dirt, fresh-turned beside the grave. I thought
how Dad and I were like the gray, beading drops as we stood

bare-headed, not touching; how we evaporated that day
leaving only grime on the sill.

12 thoughts on “All that Remains”

  6. Love these lines and words – pummeling – stale of winter – threshing – filling pores in the screen – hurried the pastor’s homily

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