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Storm

I’m mad at you,
so I sit in the woods
in the dark where the trees are sleeping.
It’s cold and I forgot my sweater
but I kind of like that it’s cold,
like the night is telling me to chill out
like if I get cold enough, I’ll be forgiven
for being so angry I cried.

I mean,
someday one of us will be dead
and the other will not be dead
and this will seem stupid.

But right now, the wind
is sighing a little in the limbs over my head
and it feels like it’s going to rain
a rain to end the drought,
soothing the firs and rhododendrons.

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About Bika

Bika is a temperamental geek and writer, living in a Portland orbit.

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