Hey there, Sister,
See any twisters
along this rugged plain,
stirrin’ up dust
and causin’ a ruckus ?
That’s what I thought.
They know better than to show their naughty selves to me.
I am a Storm Rider.
What?
You want to know
how I do it?
Lean in,
as the wind blows
so you can catch a listen,
close by this campfire.
Let me fill
your metal cup,
and I’ll tell you what the
Thunder told me
on that dark night
long ago.
Here is what you do—
Tear this page out,
and put it in your pocket,
or stick it to your looking glass—
I can tell by looking at you.
One of these days,
you’re going to
need it.
Here it is.
(Are you ready?)
You tell that storm your secrets.
That’s right.
You tell it every
shining golden egg
of a dream.
Tell it every worst terrible
shivering thing.
But you must
never
never
never
lie.
Never lie
to that Fee-Fie-Foe-Fummer.
It can sniff out a faker
like the giant sniffs out blood and bone.
Tell it your secrets.
Walk into that lightning booth
and make an honest woman of yourself.
Count your sins out
on the white beads of that hail, Mary,
And when you’ve come clean
before the dark robe of the sky
You stand upright.
Hold your head high,
and take a risk—
And you tell that storm
right where it can go.
© Amy Axby 2019