How To Imitate The Wind
Create electricity, grind grain into flour.
Merge air masses, turn them into swirling storms.
Drop a house on a witch’s sister.
Carry smoke signals.
Fly flags and kites.
Swell the sails of schooners, sending pirates across the seas.
Frighten a small boy by making the boards of an old house creak.
Fill a sock, guiding choppers to safe landings at a hospital.
Make airline passengers vomit—or at least fasten their seat belts.
Muss a woman’s hair, knock hats from heads.
Carry tumbleweeds down a Western ghost town street.
Torment cyclists in competition.
Blow drapery from Botticelli’s Venus.
everywhere is earth now
air struggles through the wreckage
made of miscalculations, failed buttressing
he heard the panes rattle
she watched the pictures swing
a single rumble woke them: separating
tectonic plates shifting beneath
their world shook fro and to
the home that took a decade to build
folded in a moment
smothered by rubble
with little left to find in sight or speech
she and he
each must extend a hand
into the void
Catherine Fletcher is a writer and an editor for Rattapallax magazine. Her work has appeared in journals such as Poetry Wales, The Raconteur, and The Offing, among others, and she is currently a TWP Science and Religion Fellow at Arizona State University. Catherine lives in Jackson Heights, New York. For more information, please visit