#meteorology
Lee Ann Roripaugh

5:30 a.m.'s  ::  moon is a bitten lozenge  ::  the eucalyptus
trickle aching the toothy  ::  nubs of uncrowned stars—

drilled clean down and plain  ::  without novocaine or gas  ::  wind's
  rhythmic bellows
swelling out from night's hoarse throat  ::  sparking fever's weird blue
  flame

                 ~

october snow makes  ::  the day outside look like  ::  a kellog's frosted
  flake
shush of tires / headlights' flare / snow—  ::  hushed birds' jingly
  murmuring

                 ~

wake to find the wind  ::  blowing off-key with your sky  ::  sun melting
  down through
thick stacks of pancake-y clouds  ::  like a hot pat of butter

yesterday's snow sleeps  ::  late this morning in quiet  ::  white sheets /
  while rickety
trees comb out fog's heavy shanks  ::  of tangled, unruly hair

                 ~

the loss of bright wings  ::  birdsong / the sound of night trains ::
  stretched between the bluffs
like pulled taffy / makes you feel  ::  a bit wistful / out of sorts

as gusted leaves buzz  ::  and whorl over snow-sugared  ::  roofs / but
  oh! this blown
fluttering's not a swirling  ::  of leaves, but winter sparrows

                 ~

ugh! snotted hoody  ::  pinkened tinge faint litmus stain  ::  (yes or no /
  minus
or plus) watercoloring  ::  blown-through tissues / torn storm blooms

                 ~

bare honeysuckle  ::  bristling with squeaking sparrows  ::  occasional
  burst
of quarrelsome confetti  ::  like mushroom clouds of winged spores

the day gets woolly  ::  dollops of snow-gritted fog  ::  machine-spun
  sugar
carnival flossed / vortexing  ::  the thin cardboard sticks of trees

                 ~

wet-dark tree beaded  ::  in pearled bits of wintry mix  ::  excited finch
  swoops
in manic parabolas  ::  to sip from the leaky eaves'

icicle / inside  ::  the riveted cat clanging  ::  the old windowpane
with the pealing tongue of her  ::  tail / sound of a sealed-shut bell

                 ~

fleck-stung peppering  ::  thunderfrost / ice lightning  ::  a thick
  dangerous
glaze of frozen rain / sugar-  ::  stuck and snow-coning / becomes

a sticky windswirl  ::  spiraling in fog's clotted  ::  milk / a stirring of
espresso-quick birds / matchstick-  ::  bright heads / scratchsulfur /
  panic-

flare / adrenaline's  ::  low-grade slow blue flame / brillo  ::  pad clouds
  swollen with
more snow's withheld scour / no one  ::  isn't a sulky pansy

                 ~

a winter count:  ::  boxes of kleenex - 4 / zicam  ::  spritzes - 64
echinacea tea - ran out  ::  icy hot patches - ran out

                 ~

iced branches cased in  ::  glass / Murano somerso  ::  freeze-framed
  see-through beads
clicking like weird necklaces  ::  overstimmed birds' weird shoutings

grackles pose and chuff  ::  in the sleet-stung glaze / songbirds'  :: 
  quizzical whistling
there's a sudden bunny in  ::  the alley / kicking up snow

                 ~

it's april 18  ::  31 degrees / the noon  ::  thick with wind and snow
and fog / chastened grackles hunch  ::  silent in the trees / whiten

                 ~

a solipsism  ::  sudden as a dumped-out waste-  ::  basket of soggy
cottonballs / fat swarm of snow ::  spilling down / tricky fizz and

glitter stubbed out on  ::  the tongue / silver thread of wren  ::  song
  needling the
mummy trees / silver stitch of  ::  chit and finch and chickadee

                 ~

if you could, you would  ::  spend the whole day watching snow  ::  kiss
  the river's up-
turned face / but even after  ::  the snow melts / it still courses

through the river's veins  ::  and arteries / informing  ::  the chilled jade
  discourse
of all of the river's thoughts  ::  all of the river's dreaming

from the book #STRINGOFBEADS / Diode
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#stringofbeads is an homage to Heian-period Japanese poet Princess Shikishi’s elegant series of linked tanka journaling her days, experiences, and psychological weather—with a lens particularly oriented toward questions of place, ecopoetics, and climate change. “#meterology” is a series of winter tanka coming from snow country. Determined by chance encounters and observations, these tanka are meant to unfold in simple, attentive, daily gradations—like a strand of beads or pearls.

Lee Ann Roripaugh on "#meteorology"
Porsha Olayiwola, MFA ’22, and Danielle Legros Georges ’86, at an event honoring Olayiwola at the Musuem of Fine Arts on January 23, 2025. Photo/Annielly Camargo/City of Boston
"Emersonian Laureates Shape Boston’s Poetry Scene"

"Both Georges and Olayiwola have worked to bridge the gap between spoken and written poetry—Olayiwola said there is rarely a direct pipeline between winning a spoken word poetry contest and getting a subsequent book deal. She started the Roxbury Poetry Festival in 2021, a series of poetry slams with a publishing deal as the prize."

viaEMERSON TODAY
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Color cover image of FArid Matuk's book, Moon Mirrored Indivisible
What Sparks Poetry: Farid Matuk on Language as Form

"I wanted this work to be accountable, to not settle for easy truisms about ambiguity or a lack of closure being liberatory or even interesting. I wanted, more than I had before, to risk being right or wrong or foolish or earnest or stylized. I don't know who to face, but in wanting to be accountable the poems call—a bit desperately, really—to readers I can't yet see. My ambition was to create across each poem and again across the book a complex of feelings, sometimes contradictory feelings, that would get at what's irreconcilable about the real."
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