-A restrained meditation on shared vulnerability, the poem reflects on how storms fall without ideology, reminding us that beneath division we stand equally exposed under the same sky.
The storm does not check
registration.
It does not pause
over certain rooftops
to confirm belief.
Rain falls
without inquiry.
Wind does not argue.
It enters through cracks
indifferent to ideology.
It rattles windows
on every side of town.
Shutters close
in unison.
Lightning does not choose
which field to strike.
It finds height.
It finds metal.
It finds what stands exposed.
The sky does not explain itself.
We name the storm
after arrival.
Assign causes.
Assign meaning.
Search for narrative
inside thunder.
But clouds gather
long before commentary.
When the power fails,
it fails everywhere.
Freezers hum into silence.
Porches go dark.
Phones lose their authority.
Candlelight looks the same
in every kitchen.
In floodwater
there is no debate.
Sandbags line up
beside houses
that once argued
about fences.
Boots move
through the same mud.
Illness spreads
without polling.
Layoffs arrive
without party.
Drought does not consult
a platform
before cracking the earth.
Weather is not persuaded.
What it leaves behind
is not uniform.
Some rebuild faster.
Some never do.
The storm is not fair.
But it is shared.
Afterward
the air feels thinner.
Cleaner in places.
Emptier in others.
People step outside
to assess damage
in the same light.
No banner marks
who deserved it.
No headline explains
why it came.
The sky clears
without apology.
Sunlight returns
to every yard.
We stand beneath it
equally damp,
equally tired,
equally small.
Weather without blame
reminds us
how fragile walls are.
How temporary certainty feels
against wind.
How quickly we become
neighbors
when the roof lifts.
The storm passes.
The memory remains.
And for a moment,
long enough to notice,
we remember
we live
under the same sky.