making me look up
like harmonics sawn through the thunder
the screech of something alive which has lost its home
from the black stands of burnt eucalypti
the clouds have only just
at the bottom started to bleed rain
pulling free, tearing into the stratosphere
at the prior moment
to this departure, from the black paddock
across which a farmer has dragged his plough,
a red cloud in slow motion mushrooms into the air
now the ragged edges of the wings
of the shadow angel
tear a hole in this image
and on their upbeat
and with her restless talons
alights my heart
her airborne spirit
is the aftermath of a new creation
she is all our courage
extracting colours from the ash
© 2009 rosie schriever
“very highly commended” in scribbligum poetry competition, section “gumblossoms” 2009
