575: And Just as I Thought...
Sacramento gives me inspiration to write again...
***
Thunderstorm in Sacramento
Tonight, the sky is violent:
raindrops stain the purple shawl
wrapped around me--the one Laura
got me from a bazaar in Morocco,
the one I wear almost every day--
like tears, illuminated like the bruise-
colored clouds by the sudden flashing
of the sky, accompanied by a thunder
that shakes my body like the sobs
caught in my constricted, silent throat.
I can't remember the last time there
was a thunderstorm here, and it seems
like a gift to me from the city that
I love: for days, I have writhed and
muffled my moans like prey avoiding
a predator; now, my internal tumult
is eased by this satisfying drama of
light and vibration, my breaking heart
pieced together again by the familiar
sensation of getting drenched and
the calming music of rain on concrete.
***
***
Thunderstorm in Sacramento
Tonight, the sky is violent:
raindrops stain the purple shawl
wrapped around me--the one Laura
got me from a bazaar in Morocco,
the one I wear almost every day--
like tears, illuminated like the bruise-
colored clouds by the sudden flashing
of the sky, accompanied by a thunder
that shakes my body like the sobs
caught in my constricted, silent throat.
I can't remember the last time there
was a thunderstorm here, and it seems
like a gift to me from the city that
I love: for days, I have writhed and
muffled my moans like prey avoiding
a predator; now, my internal tumult
is eased by this satisfying drama of
light and vibration, my breaking heart
pieced together again by the familiar
sensation of getting drenched and
the calming music of rain on concrete.
***