This Storm

It's supposed to rain through the night

maybe pour

I tell the sky it's welcome

I'll even leave my window cracked

/

I pace peacefully

in expectation

inspect my room

half-naked

kneel before my shelves of stories

wear down my nails

picking at the 'used' stickers

splayed across their spines.

/

I debate dismantling some of my piles

to make new piles

counterproductive.

I've always been like this

a creature

with a furrowed brow

walking in familiar circles

leaning on my habits of isolation

/

But this storm

tempers the loneliness

and makes it a comfort

rather than a curse.

It makes me want to bend my head

to the earth

hold each of my shoulder blades

in solace

in pause

in clarity.

/

One of my earliest memories

is running outside

during a downpour

blue-lipped and full of adrenaline

Mom caught me with a towel

at the door.

From childhood ecstasy,

the joy of rainwater

has never left me.

/

I relish

each storm

for its power

and its transience.

It tells me to be still

and listen.

It tells me to wait

in the dim

and the dust

to feel small

before the arrival of thunder

and lightning

to wonder

to weep

/

Now the air

is heavy with rain sound

it feels impertinent to speak.

so I only breathe

and court relief.

I watch my white curtains dance

like friendly spirits

and wait for my heart to contain itself.