Hurricane Isabel: September 12

See her work in Vol. IV #9

The rain
is the marrow
in the bones of the house.
Storms
are letters
handwritten in water.
I sleep surging
in the water of dreams.
What drops
drops like apples
through cold green depths
to childhood, to memory,
to whatever is unearthed
on murky bottoms
past the vanishing point:
driftwood bones,
the white of a rope
gleaming dully.
I had thought
earth was cold.
But this is the earth’s graveyard,
where even things refused
go to die.

Savannah Thorne’s poetry has been published in over thirty literary journals including The Potomac Review, The Atlanta Review, and Yemassee.