That a roof over every head shelters.
That stresses compress or tension the trusses.
That inspection figures the load, the bending.
That a shear diagram and a moment diagram
are not the same as living in the moment.
And this shear has nothing to do with sheep,
the wool shaved off the body.
That shearling
means not just shorn but skinned, the way wind
can skin the roof off a house. That it depends
on pitch and howl, the wind wailing.
That every hurricane has an eye, and I watch
the tallest trees nervously.
That architects
calculate wind loads, snow loads, dead loads,
which are not the same as the sound of a fir
falling onto the house.
That I do not name
my stresses but am bent invisibly, bent
and waiting for my moment.
Regarding Shear
Joannie Stangeland is the author of several collections, including The Scene You See (Ravenna Press). Her poems have also appeared in Meridian, The Pedestal Magazine, Whale Road Review, The MacGuffin, and other journals. Joannie holds an MFA from the Rainier Writing Workshop.