on the cusp of an unknown

“they say” Elsa is on the way;
ready ourselves for the inevitability
of thunderstorms
yet the sun is skydiving
without a care in the world and
I’m growing skeptical.

I want to be prepared;
steer clear of windows and
shut down all electronic devices
in a timely manner;
I can’t help it–every time there’s
a storm, I hear my mother’s voice;
“Turn off those lights and
that damn tv! God is talking!”

shouldn’t I be mindful if
in fact, God IS speaking?

meteorologists are tapping their
pointers at markers on their
maps, unsure of exact touchdown
points yet “We should be on the
lookout” for damaging winds
and heavy rain
and every year, during
hurricane season, my anxiety
levels are heightened.

there’s a new storm named
ever other day, it seems . . .
why does the ocean argue
with the sky?
who is monitoring its raised voice
or defending the shores
and the pleading animals?

Elsa may show up with
a pent-up wrath buried inside
her and I say, “let it rip but
just have mercy.”
the souls of man
could use a cleansing.

The Switch

Winter dances on the
edge of acceptance
dolls her way back
into the fold

I pull down windows
shut balcony doors
the thermostat reads
65° and my arms
are home to goose bumps

I up the ante
turn on the heat
“Just to knock
the chill off”
and find some form
of comfort

She tricked us
sassy Winter and
switched things up
she just won’t let
Spring have her
shine

Patience

Photo by Rachel Sanner via Unsplash

it’s nearly hurricane season
Spring is rushing in with
her hands flailing wildly
among the trees
the sky is hovering in wait
it spits violently from its mouth

we are huddled in safe spaces
keeping away from windows
and finicky doors
meteorologists plot and plan
and untruthfully dictate when
to expect the worst
I flit from channel to channel
praying for validity

I can hear the wind howling
a loud and present reminder
for me to remain patient
the sun is eager to shine again
and we’ll find ourselves gathered
out in the open to feel
something more than the
enclosed spaces of our homes

crows caw and boast from
building to building
mocking each other during
their calls to mob
the other birds
their means of survival strikes
me as terrifying but
what would they say about us

I press my fingers
into my right palm
a stress reliever
a gentle and surefire way
to calm my nerves
this weather won’t last
and one day
we’ll emerge from the
comfort of our homes
happy to greet the sun again

one day . . .


Originally published via Medium.