Scared of Thunder

Sometimes I will read through a draft and just know that I’ve overused a word, but not quite know (yet) what to do about it. Usually, it’s the word that got this whole poem started, which is the case for today’s draft. I was sitting here listening to a storm pass through, remembering the time I hid in my apartment closet during a thunderstorm. The next time I work with this draft, I hope I’ve got a different word than “thunder.”

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedI used to be so scared of thunder.Once, when I was old enough to know more,I sat in the doorway of my closet during a late summer thunderstorm,balanced between my fear of thunderand fear of the mice nesting in the bedroom walls.I watched the rain strike the darkened glasscounted the seconds between lightening and thunder --safety in numbers. Thunder, fireworks, things that sound like gunshots --all those bursting noises demanding attention --I hated themdown to the core of the space between the back of my heart and spine. It shifted on a half awake morning.Thunder came into my dreamspace.I rode its wave into awake.Me and the rain and the deep morning quietresting between the next roll of thunder.