for don.

black crawls down the face
of the crying sky.
it lands delicately on my lap,
drop my drop,
staining my hand-me-down white dress.
i cry along
because it feels like the right thing to do.
the ground bursts out sobbing,
shaking and screaming,
until i pull myself together
and sing it a lullaby
of sweet nothings.

my head rests on the cold earth;
my arms grasping its core.
the sky bends down and kisses my forehead,
promising to buy me a new dress
come nightfall.