THE CALM AFTER THE STORM

Waiting on the winter.
Winds howled through
wrapped plastic sheets
that wouldn't dry in the
leftovers of a hurricane.
She's most violent in the
morning, driving me
back, further into my
shell, my spiritless hell.
Waiting on a lover that
will take me as I am
and not attack my most
bitterly held defenses.

MY KEY

la puerta at work locks me in -
the door at home locks me out.
i feel serene and calm within
and muddled and frazzled without.