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FROM READERS: 'Not a Nor' Easter But a Mid' Wester'

Saturday, February 2, 2013 | 6:00 a.m. CST; updated 10:28 p.m. CST, Saturday, February 9, 2013
Margaret Prezioso-Frye often writes poems and shares them with the From Readers section.

Margaret Prezioso-Frye is a single mother of two children who moved to Columbia in 1987. She wrote this poem about her experiences with weather in the Midwest.

If you have a piece of creative writing to share in the From Readers section, see the submissions email below.

I'd written "Not a Nor' Easter But a Mid' Wester" after a walk I'd taken one day from Eighth Street to University Hospital for an appointment. I love my walks and stopping in at a café of my choosing between home and destination to taste test the house espresso. Being from the east coast, I'm still not used to the lack of atmospheric drama that is midwestern weather, tornados notwithstanding. 

Not a Nor' Easter But a Mid' Wester
Two days of 73 yet New York’s buried in snow
Trees down electric out
I want to be cozy in winter clothes
Hot cocoa, peppermint, electric fireplace glow
Tired of muggy warm with November
An appointment the 3rd wouldn’t you know
50 and rainy slight whipping around
Getting there I suppose, winter could get closer
Walking’s good cardio I have this umbrella
The size 3 friends fit beneath
It could work, that I’m pleased
I’ll enjoy being dry, no more compacts for me

 

Made my destination
Now to walk home in more rain
Wind picked up I wonder
Could I fly, let it lift me
No, I might lose control, should I diet, would it help
Thoughts interrupted, umbrella sucker punch in a gust
I dodge and a miss
Turn turn again not letting it bend back
We wrestle another gust
Turn left turn right I am victorious
Cars driving by no wipers on I see
Close the umbrella winds keep stray drops away
Blow past not given time to alight, slight tingle on my face
The rain won’t agree comes down just enough
Face the wind, open again, a man passes scowled look
Almost impaled as I re-engaged
Oops
Tilt up down peek around I struggle through campus
Everyone else is safe

 

All directions gust, make my way into town
I twist I turn I turn again almost lifted
No cars, light’s red, umbrella tugs my hand
Twist, leaning, shawl blows across off a shoulder
Flies front, strap holds, one block more ahead
Sudden lull, rest, a camisole in the sun
Gust, turn around brace again
Hurry up stairs to a covered front porch
Close umbrella glance back at the labyrinth behind
Inside clothes dry, droplets shake off
Shoes soaked up the sidewalks, ah, for others dry feet
You’re welcome
My thoughts on a sardonic note
Go out for galoshes later, designer
A lining that’s warm
This time I’ll drive, enough braving the storm

 

This story is part of a section of the Missourian called From Readers, which is dedicated to your voices and your stories. We hope you'll consider sharing. Here's how. Supervising Editor is Joy Mayer.


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