Green Shutters by: Nicole Busch

Green Shutters

By: Nicole Busch

People are putting up green shutters now,

or they were, this morning, until lunch time

drove them indoors by the powerful smell.

So, coming home around two, I saw them

hanging, half up, half laying on the ground,

the green shingles worn down from all the rain.

The ripple and splash of the deep puddles

as my tiny feet come in contact with

the clear, clear newly furnished wet water.

I saw the broken, stepped on big green chunks,

the sharp edges vary at different lengths,

each one so unique, yet they’re all the same.

Seemed that it briefly said, as I walked by,

said how could you, how could you, how could you?

I could have been a great accessory,

I could have been your great decoration.

It seems, there was dry grass bent under the

wet, broken down shutters, shielding them from

all the horrors and tortures the world showed.

I can clearly see it now, like a new

shiny mirror staring me straight back,

the shutters were our form of protection.

Shielding us from the harsh, long winter rain,

transitioning us to the spring showers,

bright, gentle, tear like drops, pitter patter.

This lonely afternoon of memories,

some strong, like these, not as fond to the brain

others, quite affectionate to my mind.

I look at them again, the tiny drops,

runs down the standing shutters and away.

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Storm Windows

BY HOWARD NEMEROV

People are putting up storm windows now,   

Or were, this morning, until the heavy rain   

Drove them indoors. So, coming home at noon,   

I saw storm windows lying on the ground,   

Frame-full of rain; through the water and glass

I saw the crushed grass, how it seemed to stream   

Away in lines like seaweed on the tide

Or blades of wheat leaning under the wind.

The ripple and splash of rain on the blurred glass   

Seemed that it briefly said, as I walked by,   

Something I should have liked to say to you,

Something ... the dry grass bent under the pane   

Brimful of bouncing water ... something of   

A swaying clarity which blindly echoes

This lonely afternoon of memories

And missed desires, while the wintry rain   

(Unspeakable, the distance in the mind!)

Runs on the standing windows and away.