Kairosclerosis ✔ [poetry]

briefly gorgeous

07

BRIEFLY GORGEOUS

⸻

after much awaiting,

holding your breath,

carefully,

like a miracle,

the clouds finally laugh.

hard enough

for tears to slide out the corner of their eyes

and slip onto garbled roofs,

cars' hoods,

cement walkway,

dry lawns.

onto the pines and maples lining the streets

onto the moist lips of your beer bottles

brooding on the porch.

there's a quivering time glitch

somewhere between

the afternoon summer heath,

dissipating,

shivering, helplessly to the sky's startling giggles;

and your sobriety

slipping,

each time you tip more alcohol past your lips.

you can feel the temperature shift.

though you don't care enough to shift.

even once your favourite white shirt and basketball shorts

is becoming thoroughly soaked

as the driveway's cracked asphalt.

you're happy

at this low pinnacle of life.

happy letting

raindrops turn your hair damp.

burn your skin ice-cold,

churn your inside frozen.

wet earth mould under your feet,

slipping between your bare toes

green grass flatten under your weight,

prickling the soles of your heels.

the breeze laughs

up and down the roadsides,

wavering the sheet of downpour,

as it ushers small streams

down the storm drain.

down the road,

a dog barks.

the neighbour cat flits out of sight,

a dash of orange and white

and black tail, swivelling

like a beacon

cutting through the white rain.

the sparrows, the crickets have paused their singing.

even the jackhammers have stopped.

the world pauses

to watch unsteady water streaks

gentle trace

along the outline of

sleepy windshields

and glass panels.

summer rains

like it's falling in love,

like a meal rotating in the microwave,

like those written to-do list,

tuck between the pages of your unread book.

the empty noises ratchet

louder than the slick gulp of your throat

pulling the beer down your esophagus.

the faint noise of the radio,

once leaking through the gap of your room's window

now suspends mid-air.

your neighbour comes out to call you inside.

when you stand up,

liquid sloshing heavy in your stomach,

humming through your bloodstreams,

your lips taste

bitter,

mature.

the neighbour offers a cup of melting ice cream,

rubs a towel over your bluing fingertips.

the last drop of rain

splinters on your eyelash.

and you both watch the sun

breaks through the thick, puffy clouds,

the cyan sky

slithers smoothly into scotch shade.

and you tell your neighbour

the setting sun is the same colour as

the cold ginger tea you spilled onto your computer,

as it slowly stained through

paper tissues.