I am waiting for Bernard. He should have been here at 10:30, and it's already 10:32. Something is wrong. Bernard is never late. When I'm even a tiny bit slow in getting to our daily game, Bernard
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a sparrow whistles
as the air thickens
and twists itself
into tiny whirlwinds
bits of gutter grass
turn into tumbleweeds
that catch on the postbox
across the street
my heart quickens
with storm beats, pounding
closer, as thick clouds
stick in my throat
the sky breaks first
from its brooding,
sobbing, falling
into thick, wet pieces
I singe fingertips
on the side of a skillet
and consider falling but
a burn is not a breaking point.
as the air thickens
and twists itself
into tiny whirlwinds
bits of gutter grass
turn into tumbleweeds
that catch on the postbox
across the street
my heart quickens
with storm beats, pounding
closer, as thick clouds
stick in my throat
the sky breaks first
from its brooding,
sobbing, falling
into thick, wet pieces
I singe fingertips
on the side of a skillet
and consider falling but
a burn is not a breaking point.
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