The air
turns purple withtwilight
as my grandma and I
sit in rockers
on the screenedporch of her trailer.
I am sitting,
hands clenched,
countingthe number of miles away the storm is.
When I look back
at herdelicate trailer
I fear it may cave in;
the tin roof,
andnothing but a screen for a door
to keep the bugs away;
she neveranticipated a storm.
We feel it coming
as the two weepingwillows
on either side of her trailer
start to sway,
rustlingin the wind.
Far off in the valley
we hear the thunder,
still counting
as the limbs begin cracking
against thewind.
The thunder sounds closer now,
one ...
and bam! we seethe lightning,
like a ripple in the sky.
It moves us deeper intoour seats
as it lights up the darkened street.
Then as if bymagic -
or by a curse -
the barbed wire fence
is lifted off,and blown away.
Like Dorothy and Toto,
she says.
The skycracks
to a sudden downpour,
heavy and sweet,
blinding andmysterious,
we watch as the rain continues.
The sky breaks
anda sharp stab of lightning awakens us.
We go inside
through thesliding screen,
jump on the couch
grab an old comforter
andnuzzle together under it,
while listening to the sounds
of ourstorm.
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