Coming in from the east,

we see the lightning around Kansas City,

large, diffused reflections

rippling the dark curves of clouds

and etching the fringe of night.

The rain and traffic lighten a bit

as we pass the Sports Complex

and turn north onto 435.

The lightning gains some definition,

an occasional glimpse of a spike

in the dense dark of the storm

to the west side of the city.

We watch it all the way to Saint Joe,

catch the warning on the radio

of severe storms with winds and hail

trailing from somewhere out in Kansas

to somewhere just a few miles from here.

Just south of the city

where the Pony Express began

and Jesse James ended,

we exit onto 229,

and move beyond the edge of the storm:

Pupil-shrinking stabs of lightning

fire again and again

and thunder rocks the car.

We drive through slabs of rain

traced out by sheets of wind

that send hammerings again and again,

drops of rain that sound like

they’re coming right through the roof.

Then, without transition,

the pounding stops

and the sky lightens.

We drive on,

close to home

and grateful.

H. Arnett

5/26/11