the room is dark,
except for the clock.
it’s spilling the color blue,
screaming 2:27,
silently.
i roll over to stare at the wall.
a blank wall,
plain.
the blanket is soft,
and smells of use and love.
i run hands over a loose seam,
making the hole,
into a gap.
the wall lights up,
shortly followed by a clap of thunder.
noise moves the room,
windows shake,
a dog jumps in bed.
i try to close my eyes,
stinging,
burning,
wishing for sleep.
my mind thinks otherwise.
everything goes still,
it seems as if the world is at peace.
i lay awake,
listening to drops of water,
fighting gravity,
before surrendering to ground.
i exhale deeply.
my breath shakes.
the dark room lights up,
the thunder waits.
tricking me,
playing a game.
it comes.
louder and stronger,
demanding to be noticed.
i give it no thought.
for i,
can only think of you.
***
This poem was written by my 16-year-old daughter, Agatha Rose. I’d like to think she was inspired by my #30daysofpoetry challenge, but honestly I don’t even know whether she’s reading along.
