Eyes of the Texas Storm

By Amanda Bratton

My mind is idle as I race
through the storm.
Thick, black tire treads scream
against the pavement and the rain beats
against my window shield.

Empty thoughts spiral…
one after the other,
dizzying and methodical.

I am coaxed back by the
hushhhh—pause—hushhh
of the rain as I pass
under a bridge.

My thoughts are of her:
she craves that silent moment,
the instant of peace,
that the bridge’s shelter provides.

It is ironic that she hates
the Texas thunderstorms,
for her eyes sing of their rain.