Storm poetry

I will fall
and be tossed about like fall leaves
in a bipolar wind
tearing them apart

I will stay
and be white-fringed like the ocean
in a storm of sounds
tossing it in play.

"Mother!"
they shout.
"Tell me a story
of dripping water and saturated sights,
of holding hopes and each other tight,
of heaving chests in warmth-fringed wetness."

Toss a rhapsody in my direction,
meant to be read aloud.
Rs rolling like the weather,
and Ds hit on like a drum.

Rivers of mud fall down the mountain,
raging and fighting and stumbling on rocks
tossed carelessly in their direction,
like apple cores or bad ideas.

"Father!"
they shout.
"Tell me a story
of emptied skies and greying landscapes,
of decapitated trees and coming late
from school or work
because the streets are blocked with water."

Rain is shining like sweat on my skin,
I'm gasping for breath in a shout full of warmth
with a tee-shirt stuck to my back
as the sun peeks its head out,
precarious.