The sun shone from Mother’s eyes most days
until the weariness of caring for many children
sowed clouds into the furrows of her forehead
and impatience brought easterlies, even squalls.
“Can we go? Please!” Getting an answer
from Dad was like moving a ship through the doldrums.
We budged him to “We’ll see” and there we sat
in his temperate, patient and becalmed zone.
But children are storm chasers. We often ignored
darkening skies, stiffening windsock, plummeting
barometer to pursue extreme weather
with precipitate behavior,
triggered our usually clement mother, father
with nagging and laziness to lightning bolts and thunder
with insolence and backtalk to funnel clouds in a black sky
until inevitable twister, cloudburst, landslide, tsunami.
After apologies and hugs had repaired storm damage
there were rainbows and blue skies again–
the zephyr notes of Daddy playing his sax
and from the balmy kitchen, the smell fresh-baked bread.
© 2016 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)
My poet friend Laurel Archer and I are on this journey together. Yesterday’s moving poem at her blog was about autism in honour of Autism Awareness Month (she mothers two kids with that diagnosis). She’ll share more poems this month at Four Parts Hope.