Outside not a breath of air stirs. Heat, a shimmering wall, Rises from the blacktopped circular drive. Sprinklers spray, and Water sweeps in waves Splashing on red-flowering bottlebrush shrubs That hummingbirds love so well. Inside are comfortable chairs and couches Covered in cool Haitian cotton, Area rugs with a Persian design In rose and beige, Potted ficus and dwarf palms, And prints of quaking aspens and gardens Artfully arranged on eggshell tinted walls.
In this tranquil, tasteful place Where no one wants to be, An old woman Sits alone in a corner, Staring vacantly out a window, A smudged and faded valentine Clasped tightly in her gnarled right hand, And patiently waits For an old man Who sits alone in another corner, Staring out another window, Trying to remember Somewhere he was supposed to go, Something he needed to do, Someone he wanted to see.
the winds are becoming numbing needles to my skin again. the whistling of the night is entering the day covering up the sun to my happiness. the bullying was a distant memory from my mind now fresh to my soul.