Standing Our Ground

A harsh wind fists the forests’
wall of leaves. The shaken
green smell expands my chest,
cracking me open to air.

Thunder sounds, vibrating my ribs
and cooling swirls of air play
with strands of hair. I take seconds
to swallow the dark beer, feeling
alcohol curl in my belly.

And tip my deck chair back, to watch
the sky mix shades of purple into a dark
ceiling. My eyes widen with the flash
and the neighbor slamming his screen door
rocks me forward. He sits.

Yes. It’s time to stand our ground
in the coming vortex and hope
for a gulped breath of charged power
before this passing indifference becomes
cold violence or learned helplessness.