Holding Pattern

Holding Pattern
Rainy season

Thunder breaking low over the afternoon pressing
     Tell your secrets to them
a pandemonium of parrots into the trees. It takes a
days worth of rain to relieve the tension in the air
thunder and the curtains lifting.

I am listening to the muttering dark and how much
older the cricket sounds singing at the bottom of the
wall tonight. Rain slides down around the pebbles in my
grizzle root hair that fixes me in the dirt, fixes me
to the underworld and all the voices there.

There are games you lose to yourself. You stay anchored
to the room through one barely open eye, anchored to
     Who you talkin’ to?
the world by a slimy silver line, still as a boat marooned in
     Who you talkin’ to?
a cave, lightening cracking outside, over the night, over
the vast awakening water. You feel the pull of echoes
kaleidoscoping too fast to grab, each mutation a little more
     Hold. Hold. Hold.
The sound of approaching footsteps pass and finally fade.
A hand reaches in and touches the mirror.