A wicked storm brewed
earlier this morning.
It startled me awake
with its brilliant flashes of lightning
and the roaring cracks of thunder.
I jolted up at once,
sleep still present in my
drowsy eyes.
I thought for a second the lightning
might strike the ground with such
force,
that maybe it would split the Earth right
down the middle.
And then all of us would be screaming
and crying
and running as far away as possible
from the magma that started to
bubble up from the
core itself.
And hundreds of thousands of people
would still be (innocently) fast asleep,
tucked away under their blankets,
basking in the sleepy promises
dreams often use to entice
the young ones.
And I would be at my window,
screens pushed out,
my hair whipping wildly about my forehead,
riding out the end
in my nightgown.