After the Storm 

I sit here in the quiet,
window open,
soft fairy lights glowing around the glass,
all my precious gifts surrounding me,
the kind you can touch,
and the kind you only feel
in the breath that lingers after tears.

It seems the storm has passed.
And I am grateful for that.

But some storms leave behind
their fingerprints.
The wind scattered everything,
lightning struck the tree,
the air still hangs,
humid and cool.
And I sit here, dripping,
shivering,
beneath it all.

And I wonder…
what would it be like
to say it out loud,
to not dress it up
in perfect imagery or rhyme,
not paint it
prettily
in a landscape of metaphor.

What if I spoke the truth
of this unclothed soul...

and simply,
fiercely,
quietly said:

The ache in my heart remains,
still
as the quiet breath after thunder.