Storm

Severe Thunderstorm
my streets have been dry for so long
i am desperate to stand in the rain

if the storm did come, i fear my first
instinct would be to walk to the middle
of the street, bold and frenzied

i would trade my sight for the scent of distant
thunder and my taste for the prickle of hair twirled
in every direction. i have prayed for these waves.
i have prayed for this destruction.

but what do i know?
my mother was never ripped into the sky
by unruly clouds, my house was
never blown down despite the coyotes
that surround back door

i have never wakened to shattered glass
underneath my morning feet. why should
i worry of the wrath of weather when my
New Mexican sky is so annoyingly blue
and my sun so bright my retinas can’t
blink in the darkness.

i want the storm,
the wind, the water,
i want to be ravaged by the
wrath of unkind gods.

i know these words are unkind
i know these threats have happened
to those who prefer to hold tight
to rock and earth, bodies tossed
like crumpled paper hoping to cling
on to words.

i have not felt that windfall,
i do not seek to glorify the pain
of the others but i can’t
help but to search the sky for
gathering clouds and sit pale in the
wind hoping for the sky to crack.

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