Gyroscope Review 15-3 - Page 16

The Starving Wind by Steve Klepetar “She could feel the breeze in her ears like water…” Rita Dove Sounds burst as water in a blue swirl of gnats, ghost parade wading out beyond the dunes. “Go get her mama!” Cries echoed that night, as rain danced across the river to a slash of silver light. She came, rushing in a rage storm, flailing hands and black hair on fire. Rings melted along her finger bones. The child’s shadow flickered on the fence line, breaking in spaces between slats, as if her thin body were squeezed flat, her face stripped of those acid pool eyes. Someone saw small hands waving beneath clouds. Then nothing, a blankness more transparent than glass or air. We called her name, calling and calling her back, but the starving wind swallowed all sounds. Her mama hurled stones into the invisible deep, leapt across protruding rocks on wings of ice and steel. All night she wept the river’s song, pouring hunger’s flood on meager soil.
 Gyroscope Review 7!