that which precipitates

by Ivy Aloa Robb

The storm’s far off, just below 

A veil of grey. 

I can only smell it, or 

Imagine its pattering on leaves. 

There is no thunder, 

Yet I hear it in the distance –

Louder than the trains I used to hear at night, 

Like children closing cupboard doors 

While I am meant to be asleep. 

Rain sweeps in on faerie’s feet, washing 

Against my home. 

It all gets louder, 

Like plunging ivory hands 

Into a church pew. 

Then silence, such stillness 

I think it is over. 

Finally, where I have laid 

On the porch grows mild. 

I am left with the mire and 

The chorus of one bird, 

Who I think underneath the Spanish moss 

Was singing the whole time.

Ivy Aloa Robb is a poet and artist living in central Florida. Her poetry has been featured in print and online in various literary journals, including Emerge Literary Journal, Lindenwood Review, Ephimiliar Journal, and others.