Climate by Meghann Plunkett It felt familiar, your mouth moving up my side like gale warning. My arm calico-mammatus clouds-- Blood brought to the surface. Now I understand my childhood home. Releasing shingle after shingle into brutal air. Our front door torn and flat in the yard. Violent gusts whipping through the marshes-- the back of your hand. of what I have unlearned this was the hardest. One sandpiper singing still, desire does not have to leave you ruined. Ms. Plunkett is the winner of the Missouri Reviews Jeffery E. Smith Editors' Prize and Third Coast Poetry prize. She works as a television writer on various Trip the Lights and Shondaland production.