April Showers

Stretched out on the couch, she thinks she hears each
drop as it splashes against the porch rail.
Is she listening for more than the rain?
Not that she would admit to anyone.

She relaxes into the memories,
his hands become liquid heat, each stroke and
each caress a sensation pouring down
the length of her body like a spring storm.

Her chest hammers with each clap of thunder;
the rumble burrowing deep inside.
A reminder of passion kept waiting
for that moment, his touch …no longer hers.

Highlighted by lightning flashes outside,
the April showers wash away the past.



Sitting on the porch swing, her bare toes reach
for the rail, touch briefly before she swings
back. Spring symbol, a robin, hops across
her field of vision and sun warms the air.
With the gentle back and forth motion, she
drifts in and out of memories. Winter
almost over, as snow melts, she begins
to shed mourning, allows herself to thaw.

Dogs bark a block away, a distraction;
she wonders at their conversation, smiles
at the thought, and returns to her musing –
emotions, wild as spring storm winds, emerge.
She is at once calm and restless; pent-up
passion waiting for desire’s return.


Boundary of Emotion

Mother Nature knows me too well, it seems.
She feels the boundary of my emotion
and offers up a storm to drench passions
that boil just below the surface heat.

Twisting the limbs of trees, contorting all
flower stems and blades of grass into knots,
she plays with her prey like the cat to mouse,
building fear, desire, and freedom’s hope.

Thunder claps promise the power to come
will be enough to satisfy urges
kept dormant for too long. Releasing her
down-pour of a warm summer rain too soon.

Gone in a flash of lightning, she’s left me
wanting more, stretched out (again) to the edge.



In This Dream

Electricity gathers about her;
snakes up calves, slides between thighs, igniting
a fire beyond her control; white heat.
She senses the downpour churning beneath
the surface; her body begs for release.

Untangling from sticky sheets, she walks out
to greet the storm on her own terms – naked
in the midnight hour, she stands ready
to receive this fury, this force, passion
held in check for too long. Lightning flashes

capture her silhouette against the dark;
the hot-meets-cold wind wraps his arms around,
pulls her close, gently caresses pale flesh.
She has found home once again in this dream.


When It Rained

Their roof leaked for years; water trickled in,
formed a line down the center of the room.
One day the dining room table was pushed
left of center, with buckets capturing
the drips and the drops; the next it was right
of center and the hutch repositioned
to avoid staining on the wood veneer.
Dining habits revolved around the rain.
Beneath the blemished ceiling, with damage
veiled by an occasional coat of paint,
the scarring crept toward the outer edges,
weakening the structure from inside out.
Perhaps if they had peeled back the layers,
found the weakest places, tended to them,
– perhaps then, when it rained, they wouldn’t have
felt so lost, swept away from each other;
and perhaps then, when it rained, they would have
felt the strength to weather both calm – and storm.


Embrace the Tempest
She can feel the storm build and break across
her shoulders; lightning travels down long legs –
knife-sharp slices through ligaments, tearing
her attention away from the world.
Tension, built up over time, crashes down
along edges once soft and pliable.
Stiff from holding it together, she falls
into your arms, wanting the sweet release
you offer willingly. She drinks you in,
sweet drops and subtle desire replace
acid rain, thunder, and noise from the past.
The downpour shifts to drizzle; the fog lifts.
She walks out beneath the still cloudy sky,
ready to embrace the tempest again.


Energy explodes through the atmosphere,
rushes headlong toward her, skating along
the edge of nerves sensitive to the storm.
A temperature drop heralds the cold front
about to collide with heat surrounding
her; thunder clashes within a cloud bank,
spitting lightning and hail across plowed fields.
Freshly turned soil, baked by yesterday’s
sun, lusts for the rain-promises swelling
the belly of cumulus high above.

She shivers. Damp curls cling to her skin,
kitchen heat clear in the flush of her cheeks;
she steps to the front porch and witnesses
the rumbling approach of life’s thunder.

© Siobhan
June 7, 2009