On rainy, stormy days I always yearn to be back in Nebraska watching at night through an old screened in porch.
At the Cabin
nothing comes close to the beauty
of Nebraska thunderstorms through an old screened in porch.
the sky transforms through thin wire and mesh
before my eyes, majesty in a mosaic,
light strikes electric on a summer night over a lake illuminated.
I see millions using water as a trampoline,
bouncing with the sound of childhood fear.
I hold close to a cross hatched bench and clench my mother,
my grandmother near watching my expressions
and on that screened in porch I am safe
watching Nebraska unfold its night sky
while I sit, wrapped in the arms of sublimity.