I love a bold and anxious thunderstorm;
Below his swelling clouds, this willow tree
Aroused, intrigued, inspired by his form —
He rumbles, low, invigorating me.
Bright dagger flashes, open up my core!
I stretch against the sky, and bid him, strike —
Oblivious to me who loves him more;
But he shocks pine and sycamore alike.
I cannot hold his torrents rushing through —
My boughs are whips that shudder in his gust;
Yet I do not expect the weather to
Reciprocate my yearning or my lust.
When caprice brings the sun to roast my soul,
His absence leaves me limp, but I am whole.
As a single parent, Katharina Bezushko spent several years pouring her love of language into the ears of her children, and now she is endeavoring to share her words with a new audience.