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Laura Grace Weldon

Laura Grace Weldon served as Ohio’s 2019 Poet of the Year and is the author of four books. Laura works as a book editor, teaches writing workshops, and maxes out her library card each week.

Severe Thunderstorm Warning

Dark morning sky is stage-lit
by lightning’s pink gold.
I want to dance to what the air says
even though you heed your phone,
warn it’ll be bad.

Suddenly, without wind,
thick drops sieve straight down
onto pond and grass,
thrum on the roof,
bounce like a trillion tiny toddlers
might jump if they were water.

I watch from the porch
till my socks are soaked, glasses
too speckled to see. Water rises
into vegetable gardens, overtakes
the bridge to our barn. The pond
overflows to embrace its sister creek.

Lights blink off. For hours
the quiet refuge with our address
is surrounded by water’s wild music.
As the storm slows I bend your reluctance
and we step out to explore this strange
overland lake, rain tapping our yellow hoods.

All our rush and worry
pauses, soaks in a long shower,
lets a mirror of bright drops
soften our view, before we return
renewed, the way a child after a bath
runs down the hall naked and full of glory.

Sting, Stang, Stung

Whisking down a sun toasted slide
onto dandelion-cheered grass,
my five-year-old foot crushed
a creature minding
its own business.
In its last moment it sent

a stinger into my sole.
I sobbed at the sharp surprise
then, although now I exult
in the memory it made, bringing
back a blue throbbed sky, the feel
of my dusty feet on ladder rungs,

the wheeeee of whooshing down
steel we scrubbed with waxed paper.
I am old enough now to know
each moment slides into the past
as we hurtle toward the hidden
humming of all that’s yet to come.


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