Tag Archives: storms


The storm flares up
and glass-like waves
into you
and there are
two ports
one barely lit
an intermittent
you aren’t
yet sure
of its dependability—
but the other,
farther away,
has a brighter light—
seems to have
you’ll need
in a harbor.
You turn
in its direction
hoping it’s safe—
you made
the right choice—
now, all you can do
is follow
its illumination
pulling you
onto its shore.











You never think
when you’re speeding
toward something
like a sky full of storms—

all you see
is the lightning
drawing spectacular
designs on the horizon
inviting you closer—

never mind
the pencil is electricity
and to hold it
would be an act of
defiance and stupidity—

all you want
is to feel brave
and unhinged
and there’s no amount
of shock
that will slow you down.










The childless mother
wants to be alone on Mother’s Day
to stare out the window
into the world she no longer shares
with the little boy, who long ago,
brought her glistening dandelions
bursting from his little brown hand
and decorated her hair
with the yellow joy of life—
treasures collected after a storm
turned the earth to mud.
That day wasn’t Mother’s Day—
but it’s the one she remembers
on the second Sunday each May
when she’d give anything to go back
and withdraw the reprimand
for the traces of mud he left
on his way to make her smile.


DeMaris Gaunt

Why I Miss You

Why I Miss You

I can’t think of you without remembering

how annoyed I was that you interrupted

the most beautiful magnificent

lightning storm I’d ever seen


You came to my door twenty years ago

and knocked as hard as the night

then harder until I let you in

just because it was raining


You wanted to talk

and I wanted only to be silent

and watch the storm

framed by the picture window above my couch

the electric veins slapping the speechless sky

across its horizontal face


There will be other storms

you promised, and that is all you said

which is why I miss you sometimes

because your love wasn’t violent or selfish


But it wasn’t exciting enough either

to mean then what it would mean now

to someone who knows what happens

when a storm breaks the window

and lets itself in


I couldn’t have guessed then

that in the next twenty years I wouldn’t once

see another lightning storm as beautiful

or magnificent as that one


Or that I’d be waiting

in this unexpected future for you

to knock again on the door

and interrupt everything, and I would let you in

even if it wasn’t raining.




DeMaris Gaunt