I was poised (thoughts hovering cloudlike)
to write a poem about the weather
until the post appeared (iciest of wind-
tendrils) warning that weather poems
were cliché, the word cliché clinging and
chill (a fog deep in the bones).
I looked again at my days, meandering
forward and back (arid, but) still
with enough turbid water to carve deeper,
and wondered how much I needed
to respect the dampening opinion of
critics (that persistent zone
of low pressure) trusting, instead, my own
(zephyr-like) inspiration and
the time-nulling (balmy) satisfaction
of following it home.
Devon Balwit is a teacher/poet from Portland, Oregon. She has two chapbooks: how the blessed travel (Maverick Duck Press) and Forms Most Marvelous (forthcoming with dancing girl press). Her work has found many homes, some of which are: The Cincinnati Review, The Stillwater Review, Sierra Nevada Review, Red Earth Review, Timberline Review, Poets Reading the News, The NewVerse News, The Ekphrastic Review.