the room is dark,

except for the clock. 

it’s spilling the color blue,

screaming 2:27, 



i roll over to stare at the wall. 

a blank wall,



the blanket is soft,

and smells of use and love. 


i run hands over a loose seam,

making the hole,

into a gap. 


the wall lights up,

shortly followed by a clap of thunder. 


noise moves the room,

windows shake,

a dog jumps in bed. 


i try to close my eyes,



wishing for sleep. 


my mind thinks otherwise. 


everything goes still,

it seems as if the world is at peace. 


i lay awake,

listening to drops of water,

fighting gravity,

before surrendering to ground. 


i exhale deeply. 

my breath shakes. 


the dark room lights up,

the thunder waits. 

tricking me,

playing a game. 


it comes. 


louder and stronger,

demanding to be noticed. 


i give it no thought. 


for i,

can only think of you.


This poem was written by my 16-year-old daughter, Agatha Rose. I’d like to think she was inspired by my #30daysofpoetry challenge, but honestly I don’t even know whether she’s reading along.

The Storm

Jim Mitchem

Writer. Father to daughters. Husband. Ad man. Raised by wolves. @jmitchem on twitter. First novel, Minor King, out now.