A Hundred Gourds 3:1 December 2013
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Jennifer Met - USA


“My God,” you say at the storm, “My God.” And it is—truly awe-inspiring, breathtaking, sublime. The curtains upon curtains of rain, the snap and blinding white of lightning, the house-shaking boom of thunder that rolls, never seems to cease. And the wind, bending trees in half, whirling water, shaking me off my feet, even from the porch. It’s a fire and brimstone storm, a hot humidity and noise you can’t argue over. “My God…” In this moment I know nothing but the storm, and there is nothing else. In this moment it is hard not to believe He exists.

explaining lightning
before thunder

But what about the sun, that bears and beats the dusty road—heat upon heat—and never blinks? What about the snow that steadily falls, delicate deceiving peace, until there are head-high drifts—until there is only white?

a hot and sunny
Australian Christmas

What about the red tail hawk? Its heart-wrenching cry that leaves you in utter silence afterwards? And what about the stealthy mosquito? Its perfect, deadly design…

spring zephyrs
through my grasp

It’s hard to remember these things in a storm. Distant memory, foggy dreams. I remember I love them, too, but I can’t remember how. All I know is the storm. God, the storm!

a poem lovely—
seeing the tree
for the forest

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