“You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.”
― Anna Akhmatova, The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova
by the time i left rowing class the sky was blue
and the air warm and a bit humid.
i dug some plants to share, their zealous growth
overwhelming in some parts of the garden.
darkness came quick and light lit the sky up
and the house rattled. the dog ran for cover and
i held him as hail the size of shooter marbles fell
onto the deck. . .
and i could not help but think of my mother.