The Power

The Power
Emma Kemp

It is days like this that some folk call
Terrible; but there is power in it,
I've seen it: the creation, strained,
stretched limb from limb; beating and tearing like a flag
or a little scrap on a nail, against the wind.

It does something to my heart, this strange day,
stretches it, too; buoys and batters it
like it did to that bird on the wing;
lifts it to a place I chose not to go,
but go there willingly.

The fabric of this day is grey, but the colour in it, You:
Were I stood at the top of a hill, I would
lean into it, set my face against the wind
and breathe, a welcome slap out of a stupor:
Then let the power fill me.

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Emma Kemp
Poet

Photography by Marlow Amick