Scribblings

Mari-luz's Seasonal Circus

A dry snippet of a summer storm

Throws a sonic baby tantrum.

It stitches a single chain of discharged blue

Across its darkened cloud grimace.

Heaven breaking cries sound, no tears fall.

I strike up a cancer stick and a chat

With Mari-luz, standing at a table

Over the sacred morning coffee consumption,

That stirs up in a teacup.

She tells me of a time,

When where we stand was the countryside,

Not the edges of urban sprawl,

And she was just a child.

The sky struck the earth

With blinding force,

Though she and her band of friends

Remained unhurt,

She respects the spectacle of nature,

Its seasonal circus, its traveling showmanship.