Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Petrichor

Petrichor


I didn’t expect this to be so
ruddy and arid. Everyday. So perfectly
dull most of the time.


I didn’t expect this to be
so sad. Most of the time


grocery stores oppress me.
The laundry and the growing grass
stress me. The weeds laugh.


But then, not often, it’s dewy.
And I forget the toil of desert life
as though I’ve never felt pain at all.
My eyes water with petrichor.


I didn’t expect to be so
perfectly seized, a flood that
captures my cynical roots
and sends me adrift by--


By what?


Different things.


A man playing harmonica
who is only half good
(but he means it),
for one. And then, seized--


thoughts awash in the sudden
change of pressure and density
and cold evaporation
on my skin--


I gasp.

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