She carries both
  thunder and lightening
     as she arrives.
Her umbrella gave in
    long ago, battered by
a wind which didn’t belong,
  but she didn’t mind
  getting wet.
Silk dress stained
    by misfortune, torn off
    and left curbside,
    she decided she liked
getting wet. We are all
        mostly water, and
she could flow.
    She reminded us
we come into the world naked,
     yet learn, or are taught,
  to cover up.
Shame.
It took her years to discover
       she had
           nothing to hide.

© 2018 j.g. lewis