afternoon showers

the thunder hits so loud the glass is shaking in its panels;
rat-ratt-rattling with the shiver of my heartbeat
to go higher and higher
away

i lie.

i lie down to nap and the cat hair gets in my nose.

i wish.

i wish i was burying my nose in white sand ocean wind
and not itchy black cat fur
but the earth smell has to come in somewhere
and the sun refuses to help a sister out.

i wake.

i wake hours later, amidst the empty bag of chips
chips i don't remember eating.

i eat.

i eat to fill an organ where i think my stomach
used to be.

i breathe.

i breathe turning away from the cat and into the sweater
you left behind, the white one under the pumps
and next to the canister of condoms.

i know.

i know i should've left it alone, but it had fallen.
i was afraid the cat would pee on it.
he won't stop peeing on things.
he's such a jerk.

and in the night
there is no one to calm my shakes
and in the night
it is empty and dark
and in the night
it smells like rain i want to give to you
and in the night
i wake frightened
not remembering why
with the ghost of your hair's smell
on the pillow next to mine.