You can’t look for the lightning
Dad said
or you’ll never see the flash.
He would pull the Buick out to the street
and we sat like crooked teeth
in the yawning maw of the garage.
A storm coming deliberately at us
and the tornado siren
wailing with a bored urgency
like the ambulance of the great plains.
We pulled over.
You can’t look for the lightning
Dad said
or you’ll always just miss it.
He would talk about seeing the whole sky
and we sat like crooked teeth
in the yawning maw of the garage.
We tried to look at nothing and everything
while the old corn across the street
whispered with a quickened urgency
like the dying secrets of the great plains.
We closed our ears.
You can’t look for the lightning
Dad said
or someone else will see it.
Andy Havens 
So, there I was talking with your better half one day many moons ago, you were downstairs I think. I mentioned at how good of a writer you were and she concurred. I may not be able to read every entry, but I have you boomarked for future readings in the hopes to read more of what Mr. Havens has to offer this brave new world of ours. I’m ecstatic for you, the family, and friends as you allow us to sit in the passenger seat taking us along for the ride. The future awaits, amigo.
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We’re already putting a second story on the house so that my huge head will fit in it. Don’t make things worse.
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[…] have a few that went that way. Cavity is one. Cut is another, so is The Whole Sky, All at Once. Tons of time poured into those, and they all still need work (Cavity in particular is a weird […]
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