It's raining So Hard;
the cat's gone running for someplace quiet,
too skinny, with all his hairs vertical and individual;
the thunder snaps across the sky,
the sound of things breaking,
great, heavy things that I thought were strong,
walls and ceilings, sky-scraping sequoias and bone-deep bridges,
chains ripped open at the weak points I didn't know they had,
locked doors torn from their hinges.
Each blast powers a shock up my legs
through the feet I had planted so firmly,
and I leave my mouth open so I don't bite my tongue.
Cascades pour through my open windows
--the carpet squelches under my toes--
but I won't close them.
I'll never close another window.
And someday I will maybe even