By Andrew R. Duckworth
Out back of the house is a wind I never knew,
Blowing rain back in my face.
Through the tinted window, I had no view
And my thoughts began to race.
A dark cloud looms over,
And then another,
And another.
They push together, billowing down.
Lightning crackles and booms.
That rain feels like ice pelts.
Hail, perhaps.
And then the sirens,
Almost unheard as the rain hits the patio.
The wind makes a hollow sound,
Like blowing through a used wrapping paper roll.
And then that roar goes deeper,
A monster hiding in the clouds,
Ready to dip down and destroy.
But those clouds are moving fast,
Unnaturally fast,
Like some sped up footage of a full day.
The sky is dark, but daylight still shines
Somewhere above those jagged lines
Of clouds rolling and billowing forth
Above the city of Fort Worth.
The sirens blare out a few blocks away,
Letting citizens know to make their way
To whatever shelter they can find
That offers a shred of peace of mind.
But Fort Worth knows storms all too well
As the city was once put through hell.
I look at those clouds as they move over,
Dark clouds,
Spinning clouds,
Dropping clouds…
But not quite.
As the clouds pass by
In the threatening sky,
The wind begins to calm
As raindrops hit my palm.
Slower raindrops,
As the birds began to chirp again,
As the sun peaks out again,
As the storm moves out.
Poetry of Andrew Ryan Duckworth 