After the storm

After the storm is like the world
After a fist fight.
And stumbling
Taking stock of wounds,
Fractured ribs, limbs
Thunder claps, like shouts
That recede into low rumbles,
Like ghosts of screams
That still ring ears,
Hang silent
In midair.
Candle flames lick
The walls of rooms
Light abandoned.
Steam disappears
In ascent from
The bending asphalt.
Rivulets of rain carve new paths
In Mars-red mud.



7 thoughts on “After the storm

  1. Since I live where storms are not very frequent…I always think of them as clearing the air and bring freshness…but I do like your portrayal of the storm aftermath.

  2. Jenny, you’ve got it! That weird light following a storm is always other-worldly. And I’m almost always sorry to see the storm go. It’s wildness, chaos, tumble me and get me going…and I’m loathe to give it up.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s