It's Still Life

Storms in a Teacup

There was all that thunder, it left the air tight as a strange brew of poison. I pour ginger tea in a shallow cup, my head is not mine, it thumps, and I open the window. Lilac-coolness fills morning’s voice with construction down the street and the rhythm of a lawn mower. Perhaps it’s my head, but the kitchen doesn’t feel like mine, it’s feels dreamlike and rose-white bright. There’s no shelter here from this buzz and flash, and I finish drinking the tea from a cup that always seems stained.

The edge of music
Time is jealous of roses
These meaningless words

For dVerse Haibun Monday: shelter. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #apoemaday on Twitter. Image from Unsplash