The Lemonade Sea

3:37 a.m.

Bottles empty. The once sizzling plates are but cold steel.

A man walks dandily. No, those were two men with three feet.

Rushing adrenaline. Sandy legs prancing twice in speed.

No time to wash her face. The tears did the job.

Two and forty minutes of shuteye. Three short dreams.

Up. Alert. Feeling everything. Everything.

A log rotting in saline. Wet. This is her sanctuary.

The darkest hours when midnight dances with dawn, to the songs of the stars.

The lemonade sea.

The lullabies of the monsoon.

The waves. Oh. The waves.

She will remember.

***

Powerless on a Saturday afternoon. The darkness is kind. It makes the eyes blind to clutter. And the rain, the white noise. This is where one sees clearest.

***

Pain, I have learned, is a blessing.