Tonight, instead of packing, we
stepped out to meet the churning sky,
rallied with the sun’s descent
while darkened clouds devoured the light.
Trees embraced the swirls of air
that swelled with tufts of summer rain.
Lit up in each electric flash,
they reached beyond our pain.
The velvet night that drapes our roof
does not mute the thunder’s clap,
but draws its fleece around the hearth
that warmed us once on Grandmother’s lap.
Beside the fire, a lemon glow
once drew the family home to share
the latest ice cream in the churn
and all the tales a soul could bare.
Tonight, instead of packing up
our summer storms and winter dreams
we savored long-lost memories
of dairy farms and Grandmother’s cream.
We took a pint into the rain
to taste the summer’s steam.

About the Author
Seattle native K. M. Huber studied in Portland, OR, then New York City, where she worked for a decade before moving to South America with her Peruvian husband. After working in Costa Rica, Bolivia, Atlanta, and Peru, they recently moved to Maryville, TN. Huber’s work has been published in journals such as Poydras Review, Vice-Versa, Earth Island Journal, Post Road, MacGuffin and Amarillo Bay. She wrote and co-produced an award-winning documentary about deforestation in the Nazca region. Her extensive research into the Nazca culture and the region’s fragile ecosystem resulted in a novel now looking for a home.