OverTheRainbow

Inspired by the poem 'Fog' by Carl Sandburg.

He comes quietly, night after night,

soft four-toed footprints in the frosted grass.

He rolls over, and over, stretching

i would like to write a psalm made of salt dedicated to whomever Lot’s Wife really was.

for people cannot be made of perfection

and people cannot be made to never hold grudges. what if

we try to sleep in over break

because there's nothing left to do until December anyways

and it won't really work because dawn always opens my blinds

and their cat gets the zoomies at 6 but

i always feel pressured into

being grateful for the biggest things i can

which to me always sounds like i'm shouting for forgiveness

instead of gratitude. i never get to say i'm grateful

there are all the things I could do with three minutes alone in my room

I have an essay to write and Hebrew to study

I have things to look up and notifications to check

on november first we said

ohgodit'snovemberalreadywheredidallthetimego taking

up all the time in the world with our breath.

on november fifth we said

ohgodpleaseprotectushavemercyonoursins praying