Tempest

I wrote this poem for Wea’ve Written Weekly, prompt #221. Selma asks us to do the following:

Summer is hot, sticky, noisy, melty—and perfect for a poem that keeps coming back around. This week, let’s write a triolet: a playful eight-line poem built from repetition and rhyme. The rhyme scheme is ABaAabAB. The first line repeats as lines four and seven, and the second line returns as the final line. Only two end-rhymes are used throughout, so the poem loops back on itself like a summer thought you cannot quite shake.

Selma provided us some summer moments to choose from, but I was drawn to a summer storm. We’ve had some ferocious ones lately, but the one that took the cake this summer had to be our 4th of July storm, pictured in this post.

My sister-in-law and five of her kiddos were visiting, and we’d gone to a beach about half an hour away. We spent most of the afternoon and evening there, enjoying the beautiful weather, splashing in the water, and grilling and eating chicken, corn on the cob, and some other goodies.

As we made our drive back to our town to see the fireworks, one of the fastest-moving storms I’d ever witnessed rolled in with a fury right alongside our car and then over us, casting vibrant lightning to light up our drive. I was texting a friend about where to meet for the fireworks. “We’ll see you there, but…um…they might be cancelled? We’re unintentionally bringing a HUGE storm back with us!” I sent with the photo pictured alongside the poem. “Wow, guys. Stay safe!” was the response.

We made it back before the sky broke open, and we saw just a scattering of people gathered alongside the usually bustling lakefront overlooking the place where the fireworks would be visible. Still, we huddled along with the rest of them.

Everyone was in awe of the rolling dark clouds and the flickering lightning in the horizon. The wind suddenly tossed hair, blankets, and towels around as everyone grabbed something to wrap around themselves; the temperature plunged from 85 to 65 in minutes.

A few, shy flickers of fireworks broke through the low-hanging clouds before mother nature unleashed a massive torrential downpour and everyone went scurrying for their cars. We shrieked and rushed for cover. I couldn’t help but feel that it was a very fitting and symbolic 250th celebration.