The Calm Inside The Storm

I liked the way our porch hung

at a most perfect angle

to watch the storms come from the north

and how my dad always taught us to run to it,

and not from it.

I liked how where I was from,

the chaos drew people in,

how everyone would come around

just to sit on bare wood

and let the wind slap their faces

and tangle their hair.

I liked the way it felt like the world

would stop in peace for a few moments,

and continue when the line of rain

dancing across the sea

finally made its way to our bodies,

and then my favorite part:

the sound of fresh raindrops colliding with salt water

to the strum of my dad’s guitar,

the sound of his voice singing Dylan’s words:

Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright.

And right when the storm would blow over

we would race into the water

and hang like a school of cordial jellyfish

bobbing up and down without a care in the world,

watching the thunderheads recede

and our goose bumps disintegrate

all at once.

I liked the rarity of it all;

the remarkable way in which we learned

to create accord from discord.

No one ever talked about the calm inside the storm.

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