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The wind smells like pepper tonight -

something to do with Halloween and

the weird inspiration of Grandma and

her old-country ragu.

-

The wind is wet tonight -

crying at her own disorder

and begging bursts of rain

to help her clean her room.

-

The wind is soft tonight

because she's in love. Plumeria

and papyrus pant for the taste

of a rum-bloodied mai tai.

-

The wind is unafraid - Newtonian

apprehension outweighed by her love

of kites, and desire to taste lava

chased by cooling sea-foam shots.

-

The wind is solemn tonight, tugging at

the mussed skirt of a garden-center

St. Francis and making "If this, then that"

promises in plaster of Paris alcove.

-

The wind is lusty tonight - breath

playing at pinwheel roulette and brushfire

bellows, and pushing relentlessly at the

groaning chains of Victorian porchswings.

-

The wind is magic tonight -

making puppet shows, whirlwinds

and old clapping hands using piles

of dry leaves and legerdemain.

-

The wind is tired tonight,

rasping out her smoker's hack

in trashcan-lid Morse code amid

resinous pine branches.

-

The wind is lonely tonight -

her injured vanity keen to be

stroked with tales of lantern-lit

cotilions and flickering lighthouse vigils.

-

Tonight, the wind is.

Learn more about this author, Sarah Torribio.
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