Farm in Storm

// Andrew Payton

the farmer’s daughters
busy themselves with becoming
women.
three in a row
at the mirror, the incandescent
bulb pendular,
and shadows quiver.

after the storm
wings of cicadas
find occasional consonance
like lightning
might strike
and it might strike right
where you stand.

when the farmer
orders out the lights
the lights go out;
but the bedroom pulses
and the shape of trees pulse,
the whole big sky lit up,
and in flashes you can see

the makeup still
on her face.