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Poetry
Storm watching
The lightening came in sheets this time,
splashing the contours of the bed they’d left behind,
he to retreat to a sweaty kitchen,
she to stand at the window, soaking it up, egging it on,
every brilliant flash and bang of it.
He poured the tea, leaving her out -
why did she always have to watch it -
turned on the radio, it was the noise he hated,
churning old nightmares
she knew he got lost in.
Upstairs she flung her arms in the air,
as her whole horizon shone
in a glorious second-long blaze;
head tumbled back, eyes closed, she awaited the thunder,
wished he would join her.
Then the thunderbolt struck her.
Copyright Bare Nibs 2009