By Jamie McGillen
Lightning sails sideways in sharp arrows.
Heat has built all day, all summer inside
the narrow R.V. we can’t peel our eyes
away from purple, yellow, pink bolts of
electricity and the radio says nothing about an emergency but we listen
anyway as this is a delicious spectacle for us. We lick cherry popsicles
and my wide brown eyes lock on those bolts that should be scary, but
Dad’s face says It is what it is
and it really is, this thing that
izzes across clouds rumbling
low growls slapping the very
bowels of heaven leaving
burnt shadows in the
blackness, a trace
of light, like a
sharp knife
or a cat
of nine
tails