© Rochelle Potkar | Powered by It’s very breezy outside my window today. And the nervousness of the weather sweeps and weeps inside my bones, shivering.
It’s rather early.
The kid has left for school.
The house is soft and quiet.
There is a hara-kiri of objects:
a hair brush, a clump of a wet towel, wet leaves
she was playing with yesterday
that have now curled into their death.
It’s too early for me to be awake.
It’s too breezy to go back to sleep.
I am as nervous as the wind playing
on the fingers of green leaves outside.
Even the light apparent from the blue sky
is different.
So today is a new day
just by the footfall of its appearance.
There was no day in my memory
that stenciled the lashing green
so bright in foreground
against a dull backdrop.