In the Thundering House

Weary little darling, scalp prickling like fingers
are plucking at the first curls from your scalp,
nose overloaded with swelling ozone,
you know what a thunderstorm feels like
in the luscious clutch of an old forest

And you know, because your mama has told you,
as her mother did, and her mother before, of the
lifeline that appears when you toss a pure
copper penny into a clump of common lespedeza

Forty paces down, you will step off the road and
twenty paces into the bush—there, you will
feel the storm warm your shoulders, rain almost
hot as tears, stood in front of
the vine-choked house that holds ancestors

Just remember what your mama said about this
house, sweetheart, about the one rule all must heed,
to keep your freedom, and leave that house,
remember you must dance

For as long as the storm screams, hours or days,
you must dance for the ghosts of that house,
and you will feel their fingertips skim across your
stretched shoulders, and swinging hips,
feel your curls looped around knuckle bones

You will hear their laughter in the aftermath of
your pounding feet and measured inhale, might
mistake it for thunder outside but it’s inside your ribs—
remember to breathe honey because you can’t know,
how long you might go on for

And at some point those laughs will become
chants, will crescendo into screams, but
you’ve gotta keep dancing until either the rain
stops, and the door unlocks itself, or until . . .

They decide you’ve danced long enough

Remember to think about how badly
you need shelter, because as bad
as you need it? Is as bad as
they need you

“In the Thundering House” copyright © 2023 by Danny Fantom