Lightning Strike

Lightning Strike

Lighting struck the ground
In Mary Ellen’s backyard
And we all went over,
Stood in a circle around
The big black spot
Where the lightning had burnt the grass.

The sycamore split, black, with its leaves
Still bright green.
The trunk jarred into jagged edges
With misshapen limbs.

Mary Ellen got out her baton.
Did a routine,
Tossing silver as high into the air
As the tree once was.

Only now she didn’t have the tree
To call attention to her great feat,
So when it came down,
Even after being maybe higher
Than the tree was before,
We couldn’t tell for sure.

The baton came tumbling and tumbling
In slow motion and Mary Ellen
Put out her arm, poised to catch it.

We held our breath.

And it came down.
Just as she was about to get
Her hand around it,
The baton did a little jump away.
One rubber end
Hit the ground and bounced up
And turned over and over,
Until it settled on the burnt spot.

Mary Ellen went over and picked it up,
Tossed her hair back
Over her shoulders
Laughed and threw it even higher,
And it came down, down, down,
And this time she caught it.

We clapped and let out our breath.

And spent the afternoon
Circled around the dead tree
With Mary Ellen practicing over and over,
Never missing her toss again that day.