by Deborah Purdy

Since yesterday

tea leaves tremble

in the clouds, clues

we don’t notice

dance closer to the

surface, blind to the

symptoms of a cyclone

A glance into a glare

into a gale – the state of

our skies suddenly


Twigs from the grass

turn into timbers

The situational storm

changes our minds –

From fire

a calm and coming

final frost

You pull a compass

from your pocket

as we drift away

in different directions

Deborah Purdy lives in the Philadelphia area where she writes poetry and creates fiber art. She is originally from Virginia and holds B.A. and M.A. degrees in psychology from Hollins University, and an M.S. degree in library science from Clarion University. She has been a research scientist and a librarian.