I feel the floor vibrate in time
with the rolling thunder,
like standing in the cab
of an idling semi —
I don’t like it.
I hop onto the bed with my Bernie.
He takes me in his arms,
covers me in kisses —
pauses to receive kisses to his nose.
His breath smells like cat poop —
his favorite snack.
Lightning bathes the room in white —
a flash photo of utter calm.
There is talk of a severe thunderstorm —
Alexa always knows these things.
The bed vibrates —
lick, lick — smooch, smooch — snuggle, snuggle.
It’s going to be a long night.
I wrote this poem while it was storming one night, of course. I have sensory processing issues with sound, among others, but I’m not a fan of lightning, either. Mom always thought it was weird that I hate thunder because the lightning is the stuff that can be dangerous, but I don’t choose disliking loud (or repetitive) noises! Before Adam moved into the bedroom, I would get on the bed with Ollie and we would cuddle while it stormed.
Cari R Esta 