block

it's terrifying
the whiteness of it
the harsh
blinding
blank
that says
"you'll never be anything
until you kill me."

storm

this morning,
as the clouds gathered
and dispersed
and the rain pelted us
turned the air gray
I watched the sky move past us,
leave us standing still
running in the rain.
and I flew in it
lifted up off my seat
carried on the wind
somersaulted in the bleakness
over the hollow
hardened earth
bursting with water
and wonder
and bewilderment.
and then I was lowered down again
unceremoniously dropped into my chair
rolled down the road
and I couldn't see five feet ahead.
so I watched the water run down the windows
collect in pools
the children will play in this afternoon
splash the sides of buildings
and walkways
and lawns
with their joy
that they can manufacture
from our sadness.

in pieces, peace

it's cool today
and the rain is coming
a storm wider than the state
stronger than I
more determined
more intense
and I am afraid that I may drown
if I stand outside in it long enough
for it to wash away all that I cannot control
I may be taken too
carried away by the water
that pulls me under
rolls me in the current
carries me to the river
to the sea
where my body will bob
with the other fallen
drowned in Missouri
in California
and every other city
in every other state
that fears illness
and hooded sweatshirts
and being alone.
We will find each other
brought together by the tides
a human garbage patch
woven together
still bruised from the rubber bullets
and the ropes
scarred and cut
before we ever went outside
to stand in the rain
praying for it all
to be washed away.