Summer Storm

I used to worry that all of the content, the words had been spoken before me.

I wondered if there was anything original left,

if there was anything more for me to say and contribute,

if the Austen's and the Wordsworth's and the Oliver's had taken it all

and left nothing for me, no words left to say.

But I woke up the other night to hail pounding on my window,

flashes of lightning squeezing their way between the spaces in the blinds,

terror pounding through my heart.

I held tight to Kevin's hand and he smoothed my hair back sleepily,

whispering over and over,

"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."

I fell asleep again, and woke to the brightest morning

and summer, welcoming me into its warmest rays

as if to apologize for my fear that night.

With all of those small moments of fear that are calmed with love,

there will never be a shortage of my words.

There will always be something new to speak.

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