Laura Ohlmann

Twyckenham Notes
Issue Fourteen
Winter 2021-22

Wind Turbines

Wind turbines rise in the air, and cut
off at the steel waist . . . the clouds place a palm
over the blades. As we drive, water is shaken
off the back of cars like a dog's shaggy coat,
and I can see the sky ahead, halo of gold held
to the ground like a young woman, unable
to move free. The sun hides up above
the scream of engines, and I remember
my friend back home as the rain hits
the windshield like a thrown glass bottle.
It's so easy, to compare the sky to skin
like bruises, the flesh reflected in lakes, puddles,
her eyes hidden to a sheet of paper
as she read what had been done to her. A flight
of grackles travels along the hip of wheat
turned gray, the clouds blooming, then breaking
off in sudden tufts to reveal the new light.

LAURA OHLMANN is a Florida poet and an MFA graduate from the University of Central Florida. Her work has appeared in The Lindenwood Review, The Maine Review, GASHER, West Trade Review, South Florida Poetry Journal and others. She has an interview forthcoming with West Trade Review. She enjoys sleeping in her converted Honda Element and biking up mountains with her husband and dog.

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