Forty Seasons
Watching from the window of the stifling bedroom I share with my sister while Otis plays in the background.I see kids running in packs like dogs, unchecked and unloved.
I open the window but the breeze never comes;
only the carbons that have settled in for the summer.
I hear the sounds of my neighborhood: kids screaming, tires screeching, dogs barking.
I watch my mother walk out the door and down the street.
I listen for the slam of my father's door and it comes.
It always comes.
Otis sings of dreams to remember and I'm glad I have none to forget.
The heat engulfs me as the music ends, and I understand there is no respite in sight.
Only the endless day and the resignation that lives within me.
I close the window and close my eyes.
Darkness comes and with it the sounds of night: horns, sirens, babies crying.
I think of what is, not of what was or what may be, and finally seep comes.
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