To the Ocean

Storms Collage & Poetry by Kathy Cotton

Bassoon night. Bass drum and cymbals

and tuba night. An hour into sleep,

I waken to the wind’s deep reed and brass timbre,

limbs like mallet and rute striking rhythms

against the house, crescendo clash of patio chairs.

I fade into the storm song, a lullaby to me,

though never to Mother, whose raging fear

stowed me beneath the sturdy oak safety

of a kitchen table to wait out warnings.

There I wrote little weather songs:

“Tornado, Get Under the Table” and

“Blow Away, Rain.” There I perfected drowsing

to wind chimes and thunder drums, as I do tonight,

curling softly into a storm's dark serenade,

wondering if it can be heard above the clouds,

or below the peaceful grass of Mother’s grave.