Shoulders

Well, the rain fell like

Straight pencil lines,

And my tight shoulders,

My tight soul unfurled

Blossomed like

Like something poetic, maybe a flower,

But for now just call it an umbrella:

Inverted, filling up with rain,

Its little hands gathering up the drops to

Hold them close to its center,

Its spindly branching heart.

Tomorrow when I twist up out of

Spiraled blankets on my bed,

My shoulders, my soul will

Wrap themselves back up

Into sea-shell whorls,

The folding blades of my bare back

Turned towards the glass-cold sky

That gold-melt sunrise sky

That reminds me too much of the summer.

But for now, well, the

Rain falls in

Straight pencil lines,

Graphite marking up the

Dome of sky above me;

And my shoulders, wound

Into spindles around my soul,

Unfurl; like something poetic, maybe,

Or for now let's just say like

A ballerina's bun,

Her hair spiraling out of its tie

To fall heavily down

On her shoulders.

XXXX-