“After Eleven” (a poem)


A bit of free form poetry I wrote during a storm. I’m​ not much of a poet, but I hope you like it.

After Eleven

It’s quiet. The wind sighs gently through the trees, and whistles against the screen on my patio door. The rain has just begun, and plinks against the wooden balcony. Distant thunder rumbles, a counterpoint to the lightning.

It’s dark. The only light in my apartment comes from the two aquariums behind me. Flashes of lightning penetrate the sky as I gaze through the open patio door.

Crack! A harder downpour, that stops as quickly as it came, and starts, and stops, and starts again, as if it can’t make up its mind. Then the rain falls in earnest, slanting into my doorway, and wetting my feet and the linoleum floor.

The sweet smell of rain is heavy in the air, and mingles with the scent of the steaming cinnamon tea waiting for me on the stove.

Soon I will snuggle into my blankets on the couch, wishing (not for the first time) that I wasn’t alone. But for now, there is the rain, and the thunder, and the tea, and they are company enough.

May 15, 2017


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