Welcome to this month’s poetry classroom, with poet and professor Marjorie Maddox. We invite you to respond to the poems we’ll share here—their forms, images, sounds, meanings, surprises—ask questions of Marjorie and each other, and write your own poems along the way.
All day the skies pour, then threaten, then pour again,
making good their promise of gloom,
a comfort really, that what looms eventually crashes down,
rains itself out, or not completely, intent on furthering
its pessimistic forecasts.
Still, there’s relief in reliability,
that what each cloud coughs up
gathers and builds on the eyes’ horizon,
with each darkening hue.
And so I crave even the low, rumbling
of our longest-forming sorrows,
the truths of all predictions moving past
updraft to downburst to calm.
1. The poem asserts, “there’s relief in reliability.” Is there any way in which the poem itself provides such reliability or relief? Do you think it should?
2. What if the poet had titled the poem, “Weather”? Would anything have been lost, gained?
3. Have you ever craved a sorrow? Can you relate to the poem narrator’s reason for doing so?