Saturday, July 24, 2021

Lightning Tree


 Lightning Tree

When I was a child
pewterblue eyes round
as green walnuts, yellow pigtails
pulled tight in shredded rubber bands
I breathed up a world where I
lived in the storm, thunderheads panting like
mastiffs, tongues lolled over the lake, wind

secret as the monster under the bed
smiling, lightning fairy-dancing
into a forest 
of wild branches;
I didn't blink for the peace of it
covering the screaming, the blows,
cleaning my face
of a toy's tears. 
I breathed it in, petrichor
and the smell of power,
a brew of walking cobwebs
that piggy-backed me away,
a broken-eyed Dorothy doll
searching for Oz.
When I asked you to
kiss me like rain, you took me
up high on the lightning tree.
You had a web there, gunmetal strong
and sticky with grief. On the 
edge of those sudden wires,
one foot already caught
you don't even know you're dead.
When you fight
to run with one eye blind, 
and feel the tremble
coming closer
you learn everything
you lost
you never had
 and that you 
can never trust
a storm.

~July 2021


 posted for Fireblossom
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 Images: Lightning in West Texas © Ryan Smith Photography   Fair Use
Broken doll, via Sunday Muse   Fair Use