One love is wild and fierce,
Like mighty cold wind, over rocks it does roar,
sending waves crashing against the bare shores.
Like rumbling storm clouds, steel-blue and black,
Rent by lightning,
Until, tired and spent,
they call themselves back.
It’s then I feel your arms warmly wrapped around me.
—“Three Loves Have I” excerpt, adapted from a poem by Berthella Whitmyer
“Crazy! Crazy? I’m the one who’s crazy?” she ranted as her arms swept through the air. “Who’s constantly burning up other people’s things? You’re the one who’s crazy. You’re making me crazy! I’ll show you crazy.” Her faced reddened as the tension tightened. “I’m so mad at you I could throw something!” she screamed, stopping Dad mid-step.
“Well, maybe that would calm you down,” said Dad unhelpfully. Just then he spied the plates sitting on the counter that Mom had set out for lunch. He picked a plate up from the small stack and held it out for her. “Here you go. Throw this.”
I could almost hear the switch flip inside of Mom.
“I’LL SHOW YOU CRAZY!” she bellowed as she grabbed the plate from Dad’s hand and flung her arm backward to prepare for an overhand pitch.