Poetry: Letters from Home V

Lenny Lorenz, Writer, Pub

Ⅴ-Philadelphia, PA April 23

Dear Home,
I think
The world is
On fire.

It’s funny how
Fire makes heat
Because the energy moves
So fast, but
Now nothing is moving
And yet it burns hot.

The world is sick.
An animal market
Turned ground zero.
Make believe is a grownup
Game now. They pretend
To go to work every day.
They pretend that this is normal.

Dear Home,
My world is crumbling.
Plans laid out have fallen
Away all this year. I thought,
I was almost back on my feet.

I celebrated my seven month
Concussionaversary a few weeks back.
My brain is damaged. I have been
Working so hard to bring it back to life.
I was so close at school,
But the hopes of a strong finish
Fell away like a soft sandstone.

I should be putting on my game face.
SATs, finals, college visits, and prom.
Home, I was excited.
I had not felt the thrill of wanting to do
Something so bad since the day I got off
Of a plane from Denver knowing
All of my friends were backpacking
The orange canyons of Utah.

A gray sky blocks out the sun.
It begins to drizzle,
Raindrops hanging to blades of grass.
Holding on for now.
The storm comes though.
Lightning and thunder scare the children,
And the raindrops–
They lose grip of the grass.

The drops join a sea of water
Surging down the street towards
A storm drain.

The rain will slow. The sun
Will come back. A rainbow
Will hug the sky. The blue
And red birds Henry points out
In the backyard every day
Will return to their nests.
The rainstorm ends eventually.

When you are sitting in a
Snowstorm in the desert,
You may curse the sky gods.
It’s the desert, this isn’t fair.
We haven’t seen water for days
And now as we gather together
For one last starry night
It snows. We are wet, cold
Tired, and it feels
Like the snow will never stop.

I burrowed into my sleeping bag.
Eventually, sleep won and then we woke up.
The snow melted making us wonder if
Perhaps it was a dream. No,
Our shoes were still wet
When we jammed our aching
Feet inside. My shoes dried,
As did my sleeping bag. Now,
I look back and laugh. We cursed
The sky for the thing we needed most:

The storm eventually ends.
Until then,
Hold onto the blades of grass
And try not to overflow
The storm drain.