Returning + Snowing

“Don’t cling to anything” - London Writers Hour

A late flight home and an early meeting looming. when I dove into bed last night the covers felt imposed upon. My face planted into the down pillow I bought last month. As I counted breaths the pricks of the feather quills scratched at my face like an animal on alert of a new friend in the home. Soundly enough I dozed until the alarm of my phone pulled me up from my chest by a drawstring I couldn’t see tied around my lungs, pumping them full of air. My legs puppet walked themselves down the stairs, dancing and flailing but never falling. Up into the shower where there is never enough water pressure, which is where I can finally feel at home. No pressure, just the soft fingers of the faucet head strumming my hair.

△ △ △ △ △

Window ledges of old brick
old a drift like a moving box
waiting to be told where to put it
The sun won’t respond and when the sun
does the window ledge will drop
the snow plop down four stories
into a lump on a sidewalk shoveled
three times since before sunrise
The gray white drapes across
the city keep drivers focus small
and slow going
Wet and clung to the sides of trees
when you look out the world blends
into a single white wave
Only the steeples break the pattern
littered across the southside neighborhoods
guide posts to where you dare to go
through the snow
to the people you love tucked behind
the curtains waiting in the cold
to lock eyes and

see colors
share coconut key lime pie
share slices of pie

*little bit of counting downess
*static blanket
*white out
*drapes / curtains / out look vs into the world