This poem is taken from Stand 225, 18(1) March - May 2020.

Paul Mills Two Poems
The weather in Geneva

1816    in summer    out on the lake
colder than England    a cold wind    

just one sail and a rudder fighting the blast
no forecast    sky a coal-black seam        
water becoming wilderness as it thrashes

there with her husband and friends  
she can’t speak          
spray spits in her face    they curse God             

she sees slabs of exposed mountain    
outcrop where a single bolt
causes rock to shout    I am alive

they don’t know about an eruption    
in another place    in a dark hemisphere    
jets of ash covering half Europe

afterwards    indoors in a country of rain
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