as I stood beneath a sky colored charcoal-gray.
I remember my dogs in the corner, shaking like I thought I ought to be.
I remember losing power; the candles my father then lit.
I remember when they went out.
I remember bumping into my brother in the hallway. Screaming.
I remember falling asleep to the bright strikes that lit up my room when
no one else was left awake. I could see them even when I shut my eyes.
It flashes in my mind—this flood of emotions
that came with my first thunderstorm.
I remember the rain.