She could barely look at herself.
A weight seemed to be pulling
on her eyes and smile,
heavy nimbus clouds on her face.
I know that feeling – it looks like
disappointment and uncertainty.
Clouds that may or may not break.
You grab an umbrella on a sunny day
and wonder: is it possible to stay safe
in the upcoming storm? Will it even storm?
What is to become of us if crumbling
crevasses outweigh smiling places?
The weight does not often get lighter
so much as becomes mobile; like pushing
hell in front of you -on wobbly wheels.
I do not say that aloud though, just smile
while I still can as I nod and hear birds
chattering as a thunderstorm rolls in.
The Word Rummager 
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