Three

3am.

The lightning

was blue,

not white,

not the blue

I know from other storms,

but a specific shade

that only happens

at 3am

when you're alone

in a bedroom

and the sky

is doing something

particular.

I woke up

to thunder

that wasn't just sound,

that was

the whole building

saying yes,

yes,

I'm here,

I'm temporary,

I can shake.

The rain came sideways.

The wind

came angry.

The blue light

came back

and back

and back,

and each time

I saw my bedroom

in a color

that doesn't belong

to daylight,

to normal,

to the world

I know.

I got up.

Stood at the window.

The neighborhood

was a photograph

I'd never seen before,

a place

that looked like

where I live

but wasn't,

not quite,

not in that light.

Forty minutes.

Just forty minutes

of the sky

deciding

to remind me

I live under it,

that anything

could come down,

that the 3am

dark

is different

from the 9pm dark,

is deeper,

is more real,

is the time

when storms

mean something.

The rain stopped.

The blue light

stopped.

The radiator

stopped

shaking.

I'm still awake.

Still seeing

that particular blue.

Still hearing

the way

the thunder

said

yes.