Before the Storm
The air is pregnant,sweaty and dank.
A million kilowatts of
lightning hover in
antebirthing chambers--
clouds, thick as musk
or music--
and wait to be born.
The rumbling pangs
of electric anticipation,
are like beads of condensing
sweat that drip
unceremoniously down
overheated brows
and lower backs.
Streams of salt
now find themselves
dissolved and gravitationally
pulled toward the thirsty dust:
a ground itself longing
to explode upward
in flashing, white
and cathartic screams.
The heavy, question-
marked atmosphere
is muffled, saturated,
and expectant.
Eyes, legs, and skies
wide open and waiting:
waiting, greedily,
for the pouring
the bleeding
and the pounding
raindrops of release.
posted by amanda @ 9:26 PM
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