by Susan Sandstrom Ellis
There were horses on the island and
mosquitoes thick with rage. A thrumming
rhythmic hymn, dissonant. Their bites quick,
effective. The swelling and scratching
immediate.
As a girl I'd been caught once in a storm
on the island. A mile of silver seagrass
shimmered between the house and me.
I stood with my back to the house and
watched the plum-colored clouds roar
through the sky. The lightning illuminated
the sea. My hair caught in the blaze of gusts
and I felt the storm wanting to take my hair
for its own, wanting me to surrender to the
torrent. But I would not break, I'd bend.
I don't recall if there were mosquitoes
during the storm. And I’ve heard the
house is broken, it didn't bend. But
the storms in my hair continue. And
the horses––they're still there.
Susan Sandstrom Ellis has a Master’s degree in Spiritual Traditions and Ethics and a Master of Divinity. Her studies have shown her that poetry exists to give us hope. In 2017, she self-published her novel, St. Jane. She enjoys gardening, playing guitar and singing and hanging out with her husband and kitty, Trini, watching TV and movies. Her poem, "What the Hands Hold," was published in Soul Poetry and Prose last year.
January House Literary Journal 
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