Spirit is a Storm
Spirit is a storm.
It sweeps through, often unexpected,
causing me to bend,
everything shaking,
pulling on my roots.
The sound of it coming down
on the temporary shelters we craft
Everything
a drum, a drone, a wild hiss
calling me to alert.
I close my eyes and hear it on my skin.
After
I am washed, shorn of the brittle,
softened to my most pliant growth.
I am fed, love like water drawn in.
My skin, all points of connection,
tingle without the dust of days past.
A bird begins singing
Into a crisp sky.
Every part of me leans towards the sun
willingly.
(Melissa Fritchle, 2020)