Mama Storm

It was ok,
crying in the night,
bracing my shivering arms
against the window frame.
The wind licked my tears
and took them back to the sea.

The neighborhood dogs
yowled and hollered,
sirens sang across town,
and I could smell the
rain coming in. 

Drumming up her timpani,
my mother
shot lightning through
quivering clouds. 
"My child",
she told me,
"don't you cry"
with her strong arms wrapped
around my shoulders.

I pulled the sheets off
the bed,
clutched them like armor,
swathing my legs
in sticky humidity.
The first drops
cried out, 
splattering below,
making music in the
verdant leaves.

She was singing,
just for me,
the only window
thrown open,
my mother took me close,
sang lullabies.

We danced,
the zephyr 
whipping away the
sobs, pulling them
up from my throat
and scattering them 
with the thunder.

The trees bent their bodies
for her majesty,
the Queen,
she sang her last trill
"Sweet child,
please dry your tears."