the room is dark,

except for the clock. 

it’s spilling the color blue,

screaming 2:27, 

silently. 

 

i roll over to stare at the wall. 

a blank wall,

plain.

 

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,

stinging,

burning,

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.

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The Storm

Jim Mitchem

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

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