Thunder

The night your Father handed you a cup of Thunder,

Hot; smoke the color of anger

His eyes immersed in righteous wrath

And his gentle voice, replaced with that of a volcano

Quaking the boldness from off you

Seconds before you drank of that cup,

You snuck in through the broken back window

He had obliged to know where you were come from

Twice he asked,

Twice you lied

Only this third time, his question came in the form of five fingers

Scooping out the truth from your ribcage

There was no hastiness in your voice this time,

You didn’t let his hands turn you into a talking drum before you answered

As you stuttered your way into response

You said you went to see Emeka

The same boy who sliced your heart into five loaves of disappointment months ago

You told him you were back together,

That he had changed for the better

And that you gave love yet an uncountable chance

Your Father’s ears shed tears at the sound of his name

You could see the forecast of silence in his mouth

You were scared to death,

So you soaked yourself in the same silence

But just in a pool distant from his

As he stared at you with deflated confidence,

His faith in you flobbered like a flat tyre,

He wondered, if you were the same girl who came home forthnights ago,

With a heart dressed in black

Or was he to expect another?