Meagan Walsh

a storm I’ll never forget

I think of you in the most peculiar of times.

Yesterday in the coffee shop it began to rain.

I couldn’t help but compare the brief weather to you

and myself to the little wilted sprout

in a clay flowerpot hanging from the window frame.

How the droplets came down softly in the beginning,

and then all at once

joining the thunder.

I guess I gave you my heart too quickly.

At first you were gentle…

touching me ever so softly,

like how these droplets drip down the glass

into my cozy little pot.

You poured your love into me.

But then came the thunder,

suddenly I was being pounded by a storm

not realizing that it was you.

I wilted.

You were the torrential downpour

and the thunder that followed was your voice.

You yelled at me to grow.

How could you demand me to grow in such a hostile environment?

I tried my best but

I began to drown.

I knew that this habitat would keep me from growing

However I still blamed myself.

Why was my pot outside

Why couldn’t I handle the water






for you.



the part that you failed to understand is that

flowers bloom after a storm has passed.

Today, I glance out the same window of the coffee shop

to see the sprout in the little pot

is now a pink carnation,

little droplets remaining on her soft petals.

The storm had passed.

It was then that I realized the beauty of rain.