Linda Benninghoff has published the full-length collection, Whose Cries Are Not Music, and six chapbooks, one of which won an Editor’s Choice Award from Kritya, an arts center in Kerala, India.  She is assistant poetry editor at “I had read of a culture, I think it was the Eskimo, that had 20 different names for snow,” Benninghoff writes of the poem below.  “I also had heard of a culture that had 20 different names for wind. So I imagined the wind in different shapes and forms.”

The Wind

I live in a world where there are thirteen
names for wind:
the dry wind of summer,
the wind that plucks the nectar
from the honeysuckle,
the wind that bends tulips
roses and daises,
the southern wind that blows up from the crops,
the winter wind that chatters like teeth,
the chafing wind of autumn that foretells the bare trees,
the young wind of spring that is green,
the red wind, the yellow wind, the magenta wind,
the ochre wind, the purple wind that comes like wine with age.

The evening your cat died, the night wind blew from the sea,
and all these other winds, all winds,
except the wind that stops tears.

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