The Housewife Rides Hurricane Irene

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Drawn out
by the wild howl of the wind
the frantic call of the canvas awning
straining against its anchors
pounding of rain
on the roof
she stood
in her slight summer nightgown
in the swirling black
of this roaring night
and threw open her arms
to embrace the storm

The hurricane gripped her back
transforming the cotton fabric
of her gown
to a second flesh
water rushing down
flattening the curls of her hair
tight to her head
before the next wave of wind
swept her mane out
like Medusa’s snaked coif

Her,
standing there like a mythic figure,
on her suburban patio
longing to catch the reins of the storm
and ride off with it
to Mount Olympus
trading her split-level home
and minivan
for a seat atop Pegasus

© Julie Ayers
September 2011

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About Julie Ayers

Seasoned apocaloptimist, keen admirer of well-placed words, fierce mama bear of extra special children, black belt hugger, and advocate for a fashion rebellion which elevates the most human of hearts to socially acceptable outerwear.

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