It hits better when
you predict the weather wrongly.
Now is a weather for big feelings—
wordless big feelings.
But I’ll try to word them for you.
Listen up—

with your body, I mean.

So I see a deep cloudy portal forming west.
A sky folk braces her chariot,
raging, charging into 
nothingness.
I see a sky folk perform a southern smile.
His hair laid back with gel.
He vanishes.
Cloudy portal has much space for many.
But it does not swallow—
it pours.

Pours down all the big feelings
onto my small form;
big feelings like hazy nimbus folks,
breezing my body and bone.
From this terrace, I see
all the sky people trudging forth and back
like my feelings finding—uh—
home? space? words?

They dissipate

into the thunder rumbling without meaning,
but they mouth it just right;
into the lightning striking without focus,
but they hit it just right;
into the pitter-patters walking without rhythm,
but they feet it just right.

They poem big feelings without direction.
But they poem it just right.

Just when the weather wrongs,
and I watch grey clouds form my wordless playlist,
I’m big feeling just right.

Pleasant Nneoma Stephen is a poet and student. She is an ardent lover of doodles, rainfall, and African mythology.