Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Astraphobia

From the trigger-happy sky, my grandmother hides in belief,
her lips twitching with prayers, while Thor hammers clouds,
branding ears. We slide down the banister, twisting to rumbles,
and ride imagined chariots to land on the stone-surfaced hall.

Outside, lightning bolts tilt through silhouetted trees to create
the god's gunpowder art. Inside, my grandmother rubs her knees,
to let her gestures reveal her private sign language, asking why
we are not scared, why we take chances. Yet, we keep at mischief,
knowing, in the celestial sense, frolic defeats fear.

Thor, Norse god of thunder