This is the first of a series of seasonal poems by Susan Kinsolving, one of our most stalwart Voices in Verse, whose books include The White Eyelash, Dailies & Rushes (a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award) and Among Flowers. Her work has appeared in numerous anthologies and publications including The New York Times Book Review, Poetry, Yale Review, and The Paris Review. She has taught at numerous universities, including Bennington and CalArts. Several of her poems have been set to music and performed in the United States and abroad. Look here soon for an interview with Susan, whose words tonight fit perfectly with our rainy season.

SUMMER STORM

Birds hush. A dense calm weights the air. Across
the steamy lawn, shadows darken. Branches
undulate with an ominous grace. Clouds
converge into friction. Over the hills,
thunder sounds, solemn bombs from a foreign
war. Sealing the sills, forcing the sashes
down, I move among my windows. Twelve-over
twelves are the uneven panes that light this
old Colonial; one farmer’s hand-hewn
fortress against the wickedness of New
England weather. And there, hanging on a peg,
is everything, though it is just a straw

hat, my daughter’s first hat. The pink grosgrain
streamers stir with the air. Touching the crown,
I can almost hold her head, so bright and new.
Caught in the interweaving of the brim
is one luminous strand, one hair of lightning.
(By a hair, I hold her so and let her go. . .)
Now the downpour comes. Faintly, I hear her
laughing, wanting to go outside, rattling
the doorknob. Three years old and eager for
atmosphere, she runs bareheaded toward
all the storms to come, believing the world’s
inclemencies are only playful ones.