a thousand hands clapping at once, rain provides the back drop beat to the morning on the roof as we wait in huddled masses. no one really talking so much as just existing in the moment, not wanting to break the morning zen between the last sip of coffee and settling into a seat on the bus. even the sun stays silent, muted rays filter through grey blanket clouds, leaving the world black & white.
found tear &
the same ones
that beat the
shit out of me
just hours before.
for giving me
his poem sits fat in my memory, all other thoughts pinned beneath its scabrous legs so i just watch as breath billows in clouds from my lips. sixteen, he is sixteen, and pissed off as a hurricane, looking for someones town to run through to make himself feel. his pain is real, his questions unanswerable, but he is talking now, not letting the dragon sup on his entails.
glasses and hat man wrestles his arm to check his watch and our clutch shifts in unison beneath the awning. the bus is late, i already know and wish i could think happier thoughts, but the storm has me stuck in a moment.
seriously, what do you say, when he wants to know why and i tell him it was not fair, that he did not deserve it but years of conditioning beg me to prove it. hands twitch open, closed, open as he shakes in exertion to hold back the tears that brand him weak, until i give him permission & he buries his head in my chest.
i step to the side to allow another person to squeeze inside, and let the rain mingle with the wet lines on my face.
his dad steps out of the bathroom, eyes meet as he smirks, disgust at our embrace, then turns away.
the bus drags to halt and the line begins moving, hiding under newspaper or briefcase.
it's going to be okay, i repeat.
it's going to be okay.
and i am not sure who i am trying to convince,
myself, as i find a seat and watch the raindrops converge, then race down the window, the world black & white, but only on the outside.
for giving me