Here Comes the Sun

The weather changes twenty times in two days; your closet upends itself trying to do right but you still end up sweating in winter boots when the school bell rings. Little hands nestle their way into yours, little hearts attach themselves to your disposition and you sleep so soundly at night again. There isn't time to drink, though you long for it desperately, there isn't time for falling apart entirely because tomorrow the alarm will ring again so early and they need your smiles and your patience more than you can justify your angry solitude. At night, too tired to write, I bookmark artist residency applications at national parks and dream of weeks at the edge of a mountain, at the edge of the world.

All I wanted was to be left alone.

I can't be mad when I get what I ask for.