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  • Writer's picturek m

we speak in storms


Artwork by Rita Chen, staff artist

autumn wind blows through blouse, shriveled grapes in a glass bowl.

glass windows fog, broken windshield wipers snap. it’s quiet.

christmas lights flicker in the distance, though it’s only november.

tonight, my ears ring when i lie down,

a telephone, static on the other end. the seat behind me today in class was empty.

a bent radio antenna, vanilla perfume.

i don’t want to think about you, but i still do.

it’s raining in slow motion, sending waves outwards,

a quiet supernova. long, fat worms squirming on the garage floor.

the tap dancing on the tin roof.

it’s been raining all day. my fingers are cold on the piano, stiff when i play.

i trace my tongue along the roof of my mouth, tasting plastic.

five miles away, a boy sneezes, his glasses falling down the bridge of his nose.

i whisper bless you, but he doesn’t hear.

the rain dances for me, but i prayed for storms.



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