storms

there are a thousand fingers on my rooftop drumming impatiently as the
air above shifts and cracks with the weight of the storm. the thin
metal walls of the trailer magnify each vibration and flex with each
wave of wind. thunder sounds suspiciously like mortar fire and heavy
machine guns in the distance, and all the air in my nose tingles with
ozone.

it recharges me at three in the morning. all i want to do is lay there
and listen, and hope it never fades away.

i remember the sound of the windows in the house that i grew up. i
remember how they would shake in their frames until i thought they
would break when the wind came off the ocean in a grey momentum that
would fold the palm trees over and tear their hair out. i remember
laying in bed, under the covers, and pressing my forehead against the
chilled glass and the rain outside blurred the world. i remember the
feeling of the panes shivering as i stared outward at the whitecaps
inside the breakwater. everything was middlegrey and angry. the air
itself had emotion and screamed.

even then, when i was six, and huddled under my covers with just my
head peeking out… even then, i never wanted it to end.