He Eyed the Storm

He strikes the table

above us. The dark cedar sky

trembles. I bite my lip. And taste

metal as burgundy pools in my jaw.

Stale light filters through the

table cloth. I barely

see Julia trembling next to me.

But I can hear her, the storm

rumbles that it can as well.

Again, lightning cracks

above us. The whiskey

dew drifts down,

spurning my nostrils. Her nails sink

into me.

Dad strikes again with a flash.

One Mississippi

Two Mississippi

"Get the fuck out here." he thunders;

it’s not far away now.

I stroke her hair. Softly back

and forth. I can see mom's

feet near the dishwasher. Silent

soap sobs encompassed in its

roar.

I slowly slip Julia's arm around

the table's base. She mouths

something, coughs

on a tear. I step out from the eye

of the storm, the lilac print brushing my

spine.

Stale light filters through the tablecloth.

Muddy boots. Tennis shoes.

High heels step, then hesitate

as the tennis shoes are ripped

from the floor of this world.