Author: Abigail Betts
It’s a warm, wet world.
My body is damp,
And my jacket chills
My skin.
Hands slip along
A leather wheel.
It feels just like
Sweaty palms
But fingers are
Cold to the lips.
Face feels heavy and wet.
Drips on the brow,
Like a cold sweat.
Rain drips from hair
To the neck.
I swear I hear the drops
Sizzle and steam
On skin.
Headlights flash by
In a foggy glass haze.
And there are tiny
Headlights
Strung above and along
Lit-strip malls,
Arranged into snowflakes,
And wreaths.
In the dark rain
On black ice, highways
Are Technicolor holidays
Like pink trees.
You pass lines of
Christmas trees
Left out in the rain.
Your pity and worry
Seem so silly:
Trees are born in the freezing rain.