Tie a ribbon on the things that you want,
pink or red and it doesn’t matter
for the poem of life will continue with or without you.
The wind pushes the curtains away from the light.
I sit in my room shrouded in my cloak
Shadows fingering down the walls like wet paint.
For me the distant rumbling reminds me of hot summer evenings
And the promise of love coming to visit for a month
Bringing a break from the unpleasant unending heat of loneliness.
But there’s an itch under the fingernails of my friend who’s gullet rises
at every twitch from the night sky that extends out like the creek from an opening basement door.
Driven slowly open with the finality of a monster from deep below.
Emerging from darkness like a forgotten sin, it sometimes sneaks into the kitchen.
Other times, it charges into your black bedroom crashing your door into the wall over and over
Penetrating your brain with absolute fright as the sky tears apart like a father drunk on anger.
The long exhaling bellows brings a peace to me.
Falling droplets like pennies in a fountain carrying promises from the fingertips of children
Wishing for their favorite toy, their mother’s blessing or their grandfather’s health.
Yet somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it brings a sense of dread to my friend
Who cowers behind headphones, eyes glued to a book, hoping for the storm to pass.
Feeling it trickle down her neck, between her shoulder blades, spreading like a chill with every flash and delay.
