Came home twenty minutes late, you're contented
with sand of time in your pocket, stolen
from the shore when the moon seduced her.
But then in your bedroom you found the storm
still thunderous. There was heavy rain, lightning,
and memories exploded from inside you
You had to wait until later on everything was quiet.
Only twigs and leaves, drying on your bed, scattered
as you watched the seasons drifted on the verandah.
It was late of night, and you cried.
(You left the door open. A mongrel walked in,
by the window, healing her past unnoticed
behind the darkness. It was late of night
and the dog looked pity at you in silence,
'do you want me licking your wounds too?')
--09/12/09--05/01/10--
© Era Fiyantiningrum
© Era Fiyantiningrum
