A person whispers, “Clouds are so terrifying.” And one responds, “Both in life and as a word in a poem, the cloud is the thing to keep at hand, to symbol that you’ll never know really what’ll happen, when it’ll come, yet with a little bit of rhythm, rolling it around in one’s hand can do so much good.”
Katie Byrum in her poems in iO has pulled it off perfectly, these glorious uses of the cloud, the moments they are captured within, the moments they capture and let out of themselves.
from [BEACH HOUSE}
Today there was a purple cloud wandering through the other weather. I pined
for this cloud, groping my way back home, retreating from the litter of dead
jellyfish, the small globes of their bodies, mottled like sealskin.
The synapses still firing and twitching a heartbeat. Hesitate to touch
but desire to feel the sleek back of a being all mind and arms
ungathering. And heartless. Shining the sky back to itself.