wrath

son Thunderstorm,
in vesture of charcoal,
scourging the earth
with lightning -
lacerating the ground,
tearing the sky
like a piece of
construction paper
in his fists -
the crack of thunder:
the grind of his molars -

the ocean groans
like a mother
& her hair
turns white with worry.
she frets at the shore
while casting her eyes up
at her wayward child.

& us, below, are scrambling
into our houses,
peering out of our windows,
staring in awe
as he passes,
returning reluctantly
towards his mother's embrace -

...

in the far room,
behind the wafer-thin walls,
i can hear her
gnashing her teeth,
weeping,
as if to make an
ocean of her own
to give birth to
the rage in her womb -