A storm is coming
©2008 Addena Sumter-Freitag
The storm is coming. There was no denying. You could smell it. (You know that scent just before it hits). It’s like the air freezes as it nears, and the next thing you feel is the impact. The pounding numbs you after a while, and you feel like a boxer after a good ‘spar.’ It takes a while for the colours to spread on the canvas. The obvious colours— the reds—spread out, splatter and splotch on contact, but the blues and the yellows and blacks and purples appear on their own time, in their own pattern, depending. Sometimes it’s almost like painting at the summer festival colouring tent. I can see the perfect open hand pattern .. here.. on my cheek. My lips are matching the hired clown. Big, and puffed, and look! split like a pea pod.
The marks and bumps, that are camouflaged by eighteen dollars of Mac cover, throb and ache as I see the lightning flashing in your eyes. My body quivers as you roar in that thunderous boom, your fists opening and closing. The hate that drips like poison in the air makes me brace my soul ‘cause it lets me know .. A storm is imminent.