Thursday, April 9, 2015

Day 8: The Thunderstorm


The Thunderstorm

At two o’clock in the morning,
the lightning doesn’t wake us.
The evening thunder rolled in
almost gently,
a hungry sky’s rumbling belly.
But now it hits,
crashes like the demented offspring
of a bass drum and a cymbal,
enormous and cranky.
It shakes the house,
turns on seventeen toys
that whir and blink red and blue;
two parents who jump and lurch,
and instinctively mumble for coffee;
and two terrified children
with wide, wet eyes,
blue and hazel shining
while their whole heads scream.
We stampede down stairs,
footsteps muted by the overpowering
Three fold onto the couch,
a boy at each end,
big feet tucked under limbs
that look a little smaller tonight.
I take the floor,
ready to leap into action
should the lightning or thunder
hide itself under a cloak,
rap at our door,
call itself Unicef or Grandma,
and try to push inside.
This one works to build imaginative imagery, capturing the essence of an overnight storm and the reactions it brings.  The idea of the storm as a menacing thing, a petulant beast in the sky, is one I get straight from watching the kids react to it, and I wanted to capture it in a way that was at the same time something fun.  Or at least more fun than sending the wee hours of the morning sleeping on the living room floor!

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