by Grant Sowels
The darkest night is defined by the sharpest light. Amidst the capricious Maryland climate On a highway shrouded by cumulonimbus and confusion, These thunderheads assert themselves more like warheads And the light show that commemorates the birth of a nation Is overshadowed by the death of a father. The weapon of Zeus claims a Titan And remains as triggering for me as any epileptic. While careening away from the road and reality, My memory seizes this moment like a seatbelt. Love, fear, and direction are indeterminate Not unlike the driver’s formally dashing features. Now as the gods of Thunder and Creation continue their concerto I find myself forever indifferent to its finale