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Wind Patterns

Nica Giromini

Mornings I 

take my way

down the bend

to worn-down   

stones in a 

cellar hole.

One step before

another, is that

not forward? 

Of course, the

lows here are 

wet with what 

was rain. I know 

I backtracked

to the point

where I lost what 

I’m looking for

in the sound 

of the field and

hearing it, I

stop in. I put my 

nose in 

ground. Flush 

to the edge

of that hole 

to hide from 

wind patter

that is returning.

Have I left it 

out? I thought of 

a way how: 

shadows of a 

few birds fly 

off across this 

old field’s face. 

Never mind. 

That’s not flight.

Nica Giromini lives and teaches in Iowa City, Iowa, where he received his MFA at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. His work has appeared in the Colorado Review and the Harvard Advocate.

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