Morning Storm
Published in
Oct 28, 2021
it hailed this morning as I was crying — fast, angry pellets on my balcony
and as soon as it had begun, it stopped.
and I realized
that the sky…
sometimes she cries too.
sometimes it’s the soft, rolling type of grief.
sometimes it’s pouring and voracious.
this morning it was cold ice bullets bitter — screaming on rooftops and stinging skin.
but either way, the storm ends and from her tear puddles on the ground
with time, new life blooms.
what makes me think, that I won’t too?
