A Distraction

I let the window
pull me from the room
as the arguing voices
in the waiting room behind
grew softer,
building with stifled anger.

A girl, six or ten,
sidled beside, sharing
this method of escape.
A squall outside
divided the sky.
Half light, half dark,
dark gaining fast.

A frontal assault of
grey rain soldiers
marched in quicktime up the hill
drowning spring flowers
in their wake.

Lightning whipped
from above, striking blindly,
lashing the spindly legged
radio tower 'til I thought
it would collapse.

Artillery thunder
crashed mutedly
through the double panes 
and air conditioning,
the windows and walls trembled.

The power popped off,
tensities behind fading
as quickly as the lights.

"Come away," they called
into the ear-ringing quiet.
"It's not safe."

I pointed out and her eyes followed.
One voice, then the other called,
"There's nothing to see!
Come back over here!"

But they never saw
the wind as it deviled
the cherry trees below,
or the whirlwind
of white-pink marshmallow petals
spiral up to greet the rain.

She smiled, secret shared,
touched my hand
and turned back to calm her parents.

Kathleen Hover
04/13/02