The form is anaphora, the repetition of a word or group of words at the beginnings of the lines. In this poem, three stanzas with five repeating, two-word groupings.

I heard the screen door wrench free of its hook
I smelled the decay of leaves ripped from the trees
I felt the cloying heat swell and cling, then plunge
I tasted the bile rising hot in my throat
I saw the umbrella dive over the rail
I knew it was going to be bad

I heard the metal chairs quarrelling in the porch
I smelled the traces of sulphur scorching the air
I felt the floorboards tremble and quake
I tasted the bile rising hot in my throat
I saw the endless explosions of whitest light
I knew it would only get worse

I heard the angry waters brutalize the shore
I smelled the musky zest of lateral rain
I felt the surge of vertigo as the cottage swayed on its piers
I tasted the bile rising hot in my throat
I saw the table bounce twice then leap off the deck
I knew the little girl scrambling under the bed

Published in the collection, Tuesday's Child: Poems from The Blue Heron
(Piquant Press, December 2011)
Copyright © 2011 Cheryl Andrews