The Storm

It was early, that afternoon,
when the monsoon storm blew in, seems
the dynamics were laid right overhead
of this small mining city -- for thunderheads.

The storm came down from the mountain,
all you could see were roiling clouds;
black sky and black depth to the left and right,
birds just sitting were galed into flight.

You could hear hisses and cracklings coming,
the wind shredded the plants aside,
hail stones the size of peas and dimes
even in monsoon are rare in arid climes.

The air was filled with zinging, rain
poured down in torrents and streams,
lightning glared and thunders boomed,
like the sky had opened its womb.

The hair on my arms felt electric,
I laughed, reveling in might of the storm;
It roared back and slanted its force,
sending me running back into the house.

I suddenly thought of our rabbit,
all the cats had wetly straggled in,
taking a look at the back patio’s floor
I shivered as I opened the screen door.

The water was up to my ankles
and the hail made it glacially cold,
I sloshed to the back and peered through lattice
as my feet turned into big chunks of ice.

The rabbit was under the shell-camper,
looking a lot happier than me,
so I stumped my way back through ice-lake.
Nothing about this Elemental was fake!

The storm continued to linger above us,
its drenching was meant to sate
the wait of the dry-husked desert,
while bringing peace of mind to its heart.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 8/22/04