My Father Zeus
My father taught me how to smell the rain,
Indescribable with words,
But as familiar as my brothers.
It is the smell of emptiness, of anticipation.
If I had to describe it,
It smells like warmth seeping out from below the cold.
Something that should not be known.
The world becomes silent,
Thunder in the distance, a low rumbling one may confuse for a pick-up truck or a cat’s contentment.
I can taste the lightning.
The tang of it on the tip of my tongue,
The might of the storm ripens.
The wind whistles,
A warning sound from a bird in a tree
As light flies across the swirling sea in the sky.
I scurry inside.
My father laughs.
He stands outside in the rain
Arms open wide,
Face looking to the heavens,
As if he himself was hanging from a wooden crucifix.
A man bigger than life,
Smaller still, than the spirit he possesses.
An ancient god;