Thunder Blue

June 17, 2012

Thunder blue

Cast over the room

As the storm strums the tune

Of missing

On the time worn shingles overhead.

The air is heavy on my skin

And the rain like lighting points,

Fingers of pain and joy

In one powerful hand.

Not sure why this makes me lonesome…

Maybe because rain is always the same?

One drop very much like the next

And storms are made up of them.

Drops of memory.

Running as fast as a tiny girl could,

Up the hill with my plastic blue wagon in tow.

Dancing around,

Splashing in the puddles while mama watched from the porch.

Feeling those first drops

As he wrapped his fingers around mine…

Getting soaked and not caring.

Dancing,

Flirting,

Wishing…

And then kissing.

Under those same familiar flashes and roars…

Maybe that’s why all my storm memories

Are painted thunder blue.

And no one should be Thunder blue alone.