Shantih Journal 3.1 | Page 26

Central Park Tempest (or, Miranda’s Empowerment) david alper At the Delacorte that night, we watched a true tempest form like a fist hammering in over the tree line spitting out sheets of rain-nails 26 in the distance, it settled above the stage. Instantly, leaves swirled everywhere, like large drunk acridids, lightning ripping about dementedly. As shadows inhaled the poison light, we wondered if, on days when the sun refuses to rise, is it because it cannot stir, for having gorged itself nightly on the pedigree of weaker stars, or because it has witnessed some of the same realities of which we are aware.