Storm Arkansas

There is nothing between me
And sky violence
But this tin roof.

Only water damaged ceiling tiles
With coffee-colored stains
Separate me from climatic danger.

Even the cicadas hush.
Silent too the night birds
Temporarily voiceless, all creatures.

Large water drops pelt
This red soil, and
Gush head-high geysers.

Eight miles east
The St. Francis River
Threatens her banks.

Thunder shouts
With a vehemence other-worldly
Shaking my bones and walls of my home.

Those who understand
Their tether to the soil
Hold their breath and pray.

Ozone and earth
Mingle freshness
In a land long stale.

I drink the cooling night air
Filling my lungs
With vitality.

Air this dusty soul
Freshen the winds I drink
And usher me through this perilous dark.