No shelter from storms.
I used to think
I could hide in the attic
And all would be fine…
But I was wrong.
The arc light and roar
Blind and deafen.
Droplets splatter like dark cherries
Leaving a mess to clean up.
It’s scary…
Impossible to shut out.
It would be easier
To stay in the cellar—
But I’ve grown accustomed
To the view from up here.