I’ve become a storm tracker.
It’s 2am, electric flashes turn night
to day, ignite the sky, the rolling
rumble shakes the house, and I feel it
in my stomach, like hunger.
My dad says it makes for good sleeping,
but I am awake, listening, studying maps,
timelines, spaghetti trails, and currents,
wave heights and wind gusts, depression,
cyclone, surge and warnings. I watch.
I know it has to do with control –
maybe if I can see it coming
I can regulate the unknown,
shelter, take precautions, maybe
the cracked splintering facade of
familiarity will keep me safe.
Eyes on the atmosphere,
I saw the new moon tonight
a slim silver crescent like
a hoop earring, a swollen tear.
Now,
the clouds and rain have taken
center stage, remind me of my place
laying atop on ocean mountain,
tracing the tides as they rise
to meet the sky
