Meditations on a spring storm 

by Jess Walter



Lightning hits the house

across the street with a murderous crack, 

and all I want is to lie in the center 

of the driveway, face and palms turned 

upward towards the violence.  The sky growls

like a starving dog, and it’s you I think of -

collected, quiet-eyed, standing still 

in an empty forest.  



I discuss proximity with myself, concoct

equations, as the storm above rumbles on.  

The distance between my crooked 

toes (point A) and your perfectly 

long arms (point B) is the square root 

of last night when the rain 

and your eyes fell on my bare 

neck as I walked through the heavy

doors, an offering from the wet 




In the morning, the sun bites through 

a gray ceiling of cloud until the black streets 

steam and the newly green leaves 

of grass bow elegantly, glossy 

with gratitude.