That night, August lost its heat
air sticky with the aroma of rain and topsoil
vortex clouds charmed a juniper green
it came hissing and I didn’t wince, not even when it plucked the Ritter’s barn
from the spongy midwestern ground
and spit its shards one hundred yards west
I learned then, the sky listens to its own gospel
a true master of conquest. I watched a column of wind
rip geography from root to limb, the scarred fields pulped
with dead cows and sheep, a crown of crows circling.
Adorn me in eagle feathers
make me an angel for that type of God.
By Nick Stanovick
Nick Stanovick is a graduate of Temple University, an alumni of Babel Poetry Collective, and a member of Temple University’s slam team that won the 2016 College Union Poetry Slam Invitational. His poems have been featured on Button Poetry, SlamFind and in SickLit Magazine. He is a lover of freezer pizza, Law & Order SVU, and laughing.