Poem #6: Noblesse Oblige

When she was angry, the whole world knew it.
The dog would slink from the sound of the frying pan
and we would perk in the way we did
when we heard thunder approaching.
If we saw the storm rolling in we would seek out whatever shelter we could find;
a book borrowed from the library,
a doll that was suddenly unbearably naked.
We would wait for the clouds to pass and sometimes, they did.
That was her nature, mysterious patterns of weather we could not predict.

Every now and again, though;
lightning would strike. One of us would disappear, snatched up
in a frightened whimper or wail of despair
only discovered later, somewhere else, confused and red and wild-haired.
That was our way. We were nature’s children.

The droughts would come without warning,
entire evenings spent without a drop. We were expected
to scrounge for what we could, to go to bed grateful but wondering
why there were no clouds, why the wind didn’t move.
Later, in the darkness, our dreams would flash white and forked,
and we could almost taste the salt of water, bittersweet.
Those were the days we’d dance, voices raised and feet stamping,
doing what we had to
praying for rain.