irene by Angela Thomas the air is still and eerily quiet. the train hasn't run by my window, one child rides their bike up and down the street all day, no one else is out. i can hear furniture being pushed around above me, a party down the hall, a baby crying. one truck lumbers down the street, no buses turning, a lone ambulance wails in the distance. the stores are devoid of water, candles, ice cream. everyone preparing for something that they don't know how to handle. i'm nesting. cleaning, organizing, strapping, baking, waiting for the storm to begin. the pounding rain, whipping wind, sheets and torrents in waves like the earth having an orgasm, spasming and throwing its head back, screaming and moaning in a fit of pain and power. for now, the air hangs thick with anticipation, fear, skepticism, trouble, clouds collecting along a darkening horizon. 08/27/2011 Posted on 08/27/2011 Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas Return to the Previous Page   pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 3 visitor(s) online All works Copyright © 2024 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)