Weather or Not (synesthesia poetry challenge)
A few years in, it occurred to me I had married a mountain. I mistook rigidity for strength, immovability for loyalty. With shocking speed, your winds would shift, one moment temperate, the next bitter, your anger an icy gale that slashed. I could never see it coming; there was no forecast. I learned to find what shelter I could Until it passed. Your shouts were an avalanche. I threw up my arms to protect my head, sometimes lobbing missiles back, often fleeing to more stable ground. Alarmed, I’d snatch the baby from her crib, my torso curving into a shell to shield her, and run outside. You followed, bellowing that I was the crazy one. At the word “abuse” you were confused, saying I never laid a hand on her. You didn’t see the rocks you threw, nor the cuts they made. How could I have thought a stone could see? It was against your nature. I left when I recognized that it would be madness to try to change the weather. Poetry writing prompt: Incorporat...