Visit from Weather Fairy

I wonder if I am strange,
and the voice always calls back, “yes.”

          Because a voice inside your head is little
          but fog until it condenses
          to sparse droplets,
          then thunderous rain,
          then drowning showers,
          then flood.

Aqueous hands shoulder me to the cumulus,
The aches and quivers of teal waves beneath,
Another lapping wash will come, with trust,
These tides will wean.

The weather channel is never accurate,
a small mistake until it cancels
your plans for you ⸺ splinters the wood door,
scraps fly from the fourth spackle repair, the people at the home improvement store are your family now.

They asked you,
Share your bleeding hearts with
other militant mourners,

Quote:

“When Mom asks me why I’m sad,
I realize she’s stopped asking ‘if.’”
and
“What does it mean when
you are haze before a person?”
and
“They say I need to heal, but I need a goal for that, and that has always been ‘not this.’”

I wonder if I am strange,
and I ask a different question.

I ask if I am needed,
and the voice always calls back, “yes.”

I wonder if I am strange,
and this time I answer back

Katie Xin is a poet in progress. She can be found writing in A Room of Her Own during the depths of night, with smudged glasses and a tapering pencil. Don’t tell her mom.

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