Every school kid
knows they are lying
when they tell you
you can’t see the wind.

And I know it still
as the flags whip
back and forth
on their poles
as I stagger
down the street
toward the office.

But I don’t remember
anyone ever disputing
the way the wind sounds.

Louder now than it
has ever been before.
More than a whistle
but less than a scream.

A bitter pursuer
Chasing you
as it has
all your life.

And around
every corner.
The first line of both this poem and the one I wrote yesterday came to me as I walked to the office, repeating them in my head so I wouldn’t forget before I got to my desk. I take the words with me, as I always have, and so I’m never alone.


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