The Storm

by Melissa Chappell

Upon his bed of white linen,
he laid me down.
I was beneath him
when the sun
looked upon us
with its jealous eye
through the polished
window panes.
His hands were praising me,
when the stratus clouds stretched over
the sun’s burnished light,
denying it glory.
My mouth was seeking the places
where the tidepools whirled,
when the rain roared like a lion
against the window.
He was the rolling thunder
come tumbling down the sky,
and I shook like the dogwood
with the shifting of the earth.
And when the thunder finally
spoke softly in the distance,
he collapsed into me,
sweat like rain
on his body,
his breath on my neck,

like the air after
a front passes through.
Upon his bed of white linen,
I held him,
until he pulled himself
away from me
like the clouds pull themselves
apart from one another,
but the sun and its burnished rays
shone more dimly
through the polished window panes.

Melissa Chappell 

Melissa Chappell lives in rural South Carolina, on land that has been in her family for six generations. She enjoys and is inspired by the forests and open spaces. Besides several journal publications, Chappell has two chapbooks, Rivers and Relics and Other Poems, published by Desert Willow Press and Light, Refracted, published by Finishing Line Press. She hopes that the readers will enjoy the two poems she offers now.

Artist: stacey renee eden





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