Our friend the thunder

by Kevin Neal

Come with me to the rain
when it wets the harvest field.
We’ll chase the birds away
and let them watch the vacant
sky alone on our faces.
If you’re afraid, we’ll tease
the thunder down
to become a friend of ours,
to hold our trembling hands,
carry us on monumental shoulders
and laugh with us
great sobbing laughs.
But if we’re not careful,
it will linger past the storm,
catch the wind in our hair,
refuse to fade when the rain subsides.
Our thunder, beating its chest
with electric hands,
slides through empty lots,
listening for our screams of terror,
bends our fingers back,
holds our toys to fire,
and when it’s finally time
to say goodbye,
the rumble in our chests will stay
for years and years and years
and years to come.  Reminding us
of our friend the thunder
like scars remind us
of the knives we kept.