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Storm
By Janet Granger

The lights wave good-bye
as they flicker
out,

the final
darkness.

The house becomes an eerie quiet, finally peaceful,
soft thunder rumbles,
muttering
in the distance.

Green leaves toss and turn
in the wind, raindrops bouncing them
in one direction then another.

I am the outsider looking in,
the insider
looking
out.

Day falls darker into night and
candles illuminate
small spaces of
control.

“When will the lights come back on?”
my little ones ask,
trembling.
“I do not know,”

“Why can’t you fix them now?”
“Because I can’t.
I’m sorry.”

I hold them close,
one on either side,
kissing their brows.

“But do not be afraid.
Mommy is here.
Mommy is always here.”

Shh.
Go to sleep.
The sun will shine its brightest
in the morning.




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Document last modified on: 07/25/1997

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