Modern Magi

I’m ready for the thunder,
now.
I learned that there can be beauty
in the quaking of the earth;
just because the sky trembles
doesn’t mean it will fall down.

And if it did,
our bones would be crushed
into fairy dust
and whoever survived would build from a world
coated in magic.

Maybe there’d be peace then.
Maybe some things would make more sense like:

driving home I saw a car
missing one headlight,
completely smashed out of socket
on the drivers side,
save for a bulb.
This bulb that was on
and shining with all its might.
Wherever they were going,
they still had light.

When the sky cracks in half,
I realize now stitching can also
come in streaks that terrify.

I am no longer a child,
hiding under covers
when the rain comes down.
I’m the windshield wiper
on a car sans one headlight,
swishing water out of line of sight.
Helping driver get to destination,
marveling at the shaking
waiting for the comet tail of lightning,
and trailing the wings of the faeries,
shaking off dust as they fly by.

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