Too soon I think, the thunder has rolled through, passed me by.
Static electricity drains from the air
and the hairs on my arms can lay down flat again.
Summer heat closes back in around the disappearing tunnel made by a June tempest so great it slowed the whole earth’s orbit for a little while.
The sky is clearing, but I feel like I’m losing. Flat again.
Bronte turns back into a regular girl.

I’ve been chasing storms
learning how lightly to touch a heavy-laden cloud to release its cooling cargo.
Just one fingertip, maybe two, a tiny pinch,
any more force and the bubble bursts, the deluge splashes away, uncatchable.
I’m left drenched, but not quenched  

I’ve been practicing
holding lightning rods, flying kites, trying keys
from my rooftop on tiptoes
amniotic and emerging
trusting the wind to catch me up.

I think I became the lightning for one bright moment
basking in the glow of explosion.
The sky is clearing, and I feel like I’m losing.
Tomorrow, storm season will be over.  

(I offer my thanks to every poet who has shared their work this month; I’ve been entirely inspired, challenged, and moved.  This has been a wonderful time of learning and growth and I’ll miss the daily rush of reading your poems and sharing mine!)