shutters

This world is full of wonders. 

Sometimes I think it is wasted on the likes of you and I. We walk too fast to notice birdsong, never spare a single glance skyward to feel the golden sunshine warm our skin. It’s no wonder we are always so sad. 

I walked past your house yesterday and saw all the shutters pulled down tight. It looked like you were waging war on sunlight, putting up defenses and building barriers to keep the darkness inside safe. I wanted to stop and knock. I wanted to pull back all the blinds and see the dust glitter in the pools of sunlight spilling over the hardwood floor. 

Before I could take a step toward you I was swept by the tide into the mouth of the yawning giants sleeping at the side of the road. There was nowhere to sit and the early morning sun was muted by plastic advertisements peeling back from smoky windows. 

By the time my stop got announced I forgot about your blinds. 

I stepped out toward the crooked towers bathed in gold and never once looked up.

Fragment, February 2022