I Thought the World Was a Good Day for You

Will you endure?
When the sun is crying and trying
to hide behind the clouds parting as curtains?

When you were crying and hiding
behind curtains that were invisible when he broke her—
over and over again—
and you pretended you weren’t in the room.
Pretended you were in an autumnal forest where

the golden hues of sunrise catch and stick
on turning leaves.

And it looks like you are on fire—
face painted by rain instead of salted as your tongue
coils to catch all the sorrows of the world—

condensed and concentrated—distilled—into a single rainstorm.

Will you endure?
When the sun has hidden her bruised face below
the horizon and she can’t meet your eyes?

When you hear the leather whisper through the denim:
“This is what you make me do—”
and the rest is cut, the staccato of metaled teeth chattering.

You wish for a rainbow.
The promise is thrust into you and ripped—violently—
and you become as dark as the cloud—

the pyroclastic flow.

You are the impending death roar chasing the lightning
of the eruption.


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