Mad Irene has come…

Mad Irene, you have arrived, with the wind in your hair, and tears in your eyes.  You are here, and in your fury you have broken at least two trees on our street, turning it into a site of minor devastation, chaos, and wild noise.

My neighbors tell me you’re going to become wilder tonight before you head out.  They say tomorrow will be a beautiful day when you are finally exiled from our shores, when your slit eyelids are curtained again, when you are dissipated, defanged.  They say many things; they are positive people.

You have wreacked a minor chaos on our street; you have felled trees, and a felled tree breaks my heart so violent is the rupture. But I must also admit that there is excitement in your coming,  a flutter of the heart when your first drops begin to fall, when the leaves begin their rustle, at first gently and then wilder until the entire world seems to be shaking like a reed.

That is why, Mad Irene, I want to tell you, I want to tell you–despite all the havoc you have brought, despite the protestations of the neighbors, the crooked electric pole and the jumbled wires.  Despite all this, I want to tell you: Stay.


About Taline Voskeritchian

Writing teacher at Boston University; translator (from Arabic and Armenian); prose writer; occasional editor; incurable wanderer.
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