Friday, January 1, 2016

outside the walls

I had a dream I was at your house and it was raining. 

Raining in winter.  

A dark street of blues beyond a water soaked window.  
I know you picked your house based on the good, soft light 
but in the dream, 
it was all dark & sharp like dusk.  
And you whispered, 
"Some of the children are sleeping, 
let's let them sleep and go to the park."
I didn't want to go.

I wanted to stay in 
and watch the rain roll down the glass canvas. 

I didn't want to leave the comfort of the house. 

But I didn't want to seem weak so I followed you out. 

Our 2 girls beside us;  little ones left unknowingly behind, 
sleeping in a big golden bed.
I could smell their napping breath.
See their matted hair. 

Out on the street, we had a ball. 
The kind that echoes when it hits the ground. 

The girls bounced it as we traveled. 
It made a sucking noise against the wet sidewalk.
The rain was real.
It deepened the green of the grass.  
Darkened the black of the asphalt.
Bleed the red of my jacket. 
I could smell its chalkiness; taste its wet body in my mouth.  

Feel the heaviness of the color-soaked air.

But it wasn't cold like I had feared, only cool and flat.
The winter was dying.

And you were walking beside me, 
crying behind the curtain of your long hair.

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