Late August

by krstaten

We are waiting
for the final storm, the last drowning,
the one that rolls in black and threatening,
promising biblical, and then leaves
its clouds behind for months to guard
the chill. We are waiting for those rare
weeks of reprieve between the suffocation
and the burial, between the drowning
and the death, relieved and furious
that both can’t be over at once.

Advertisements