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