crisscross

 I don't know how long this has been happening. Days, hours or even seconds. Huddled in the basement, all of us. We all are crying softly, like if we cry louder, the storm will raise its voice too.

To see your reflection in the water.
But there are bubbles.
Insecurity. Depression. 
All hidden in the warm, shallow, clear water. 

To see your reflection in the water-
Beauty is shown as well.
Love for yourself.

I once memorized a Maya Angelou poem,
I was so happy, I couldn’t speak,

And that’s when I thought
I had arrived: my writer’s peak,

I looked at her and
knew there was more to seek

She loved me,

Restless, I open my eyes. Weird. I do not hear Hazel’s soft breathing. Instead, I hear footsteps. Deciding to go back to sleep, I lie down again, urging myself to just fall asleep. Just fall asleep. Just fall asleep. Just fall asleep…

She was beautiful, but in a different sort of way.

Her thick pigtails bounced as she flipped non-stop.
Her laugh-lighter than the sunrise on a brilliant day.
Even he didn't know what to say.

We are watching TV,

But the real show is the lightning flashing.

We hold our breath,

And fears start hatching.

The air is strong,

And a storm is catching.


The next day,