by peter j maher
I knew it was raining; the soft splutter of raindrops
playing carousel against the windows gave the airs
a touch of melodrama.
I could see the night whispering among the stars,
seeking light and sight,
and the pale parody of existence.
Something moved beneath my bed,
something horrid and malevolent,
the secret guttural sound which fell like glass from the windows onto my bed.
I coughed into soundâ€¦
Blank recognition told me to get up, and go to workâ€¦
So maybe I could just throw my head into Monday.
The light bulb swung inside an impossible breeze;
and somewhere a flower bowed into submission,
and bees trembled into the first touch of gossamer.
The first frail bird stood, full bloom upon a secret branch,
and early mist turned into recognition, as first rain stepped into summer born upon the wind withering into weather.
I felt the trauma of revelation; it stung like a wasp inside my mouthâ€¦ and somewhere the doors rattled inside hinges Iâ€™ve never seen,
and memories of places Iâ€™ve never been.
I saw the flower upon my doorstep,
its strength withered into black and white in a world full of colour
and rainbows only lovers can see.