The Sky Is Falling (written 10-26-09)

…And the heavens have split open,

the sun spilling out onto the soil

that reeks of stale urine,

homelessness,

the kind of odor that my olfactory system recognizes

after only one calendar’s worth

of city dwelling.

I was waiting for the bus

to bring me home,

home,

faking when I fumbled over

the words, “feeling festivious”

while on the phone with my mother.

Martha Ann moved the asphalt-stained clouds

and her warmth rained down

onto my black lobo sweatshirt,

my left shoulder peeking out,

an orange creamsicle

and a pink heart

painted on my skin,

my collar bones will never protrude.

I think she then kissed my skin

because she felt me beginning to brood.

and because she likes their illustrations,

decorations.