the wind is cool
a welcome change
from the tired, heavy heat
weighing on our shoulders.
cold means new,
cold means change,
cold means fire—
burning in the pit of my throat,
scratching for a way out,
a way to exhale my screams
without being heard.
cold means freedom.

wish that i could
reach my hand out
and ride the cascading waves of the wind,
an old friend.
anemoi, the ones who met me
when there were freckles on my face
and a sparkle in my eyes.
try desperately
to recreate that happiness,
ignite the spark
that burned so during my childhood.

the wind whispers secrets
that caress my cheeks in a friendly sort of way.
greet them gladly, close my eyes and watch memories
in a fuzzy sort of replay.
pink colored love
pink colored life,
the one led in vanilla and cinnamon homes.

vanilla,
a scent i used to cherish,
a scent that used to be rare.
now, vanilla drifts through my nostrils
with no excitement,
just a slight recognition
and an unmistakable twinge of missing.

the wind is cold
leaves a rose on my cheek.
the wind is free,
free to leap and bound and grin at
everything that comes their way.
the wind is laughter that echoes
through a dark cave,
bringing light
bringing life.
the wind breathes,
and i feel it's heartbeat.
like mine.
buh-bum. buh-bum.

buh-bum. buh-bum.
four beats make eight, make twelve, make twenty.
beats like mine—
naked, natural, human.
close my eyes,
lose count.
glide into dreams like honey.
fantasize
about love and hope and youth
and the mountains i climbed
that turned out to be just hills.
dream about what used to be.
dream about the becoming of me.

______

(written 10/11/19, on the way home from mary poppins with a dry, fiery throat and the windows down in the rental car. last lines written in the half-bathroom of the house, surrounded by lots of cream)