Meaning malice, she raises a banshee cry as she smashes my dream, bleeding and unfulfilled, to the ground. Up to my ankles in deferment, I look down and spy the early bird again devouring the early worm. Tired of the dreary violence of arbitrary punctuality, I look up to see the watermelon pinks and mango oranges of another indifferent summer morning beginning. I look everywhere but her squinted eyes and thin pressed mouth fearing falling into both.
home, soil, rain…
“When I Think of Home” by Diana Ross
Saying good morning to the worms makes them rise out of the soil.
All the gloom and rain for the past few days have led to heartache.