“
You Did it begin with the sky holding back its rain like a fist stopping just short of your face, the slight rush of air on your jaw? You’d rather a thunderhead’s anvil stalking as you back into a room with a lock, because that actual fist clenched round a storm could let loose, break down the door. Now you’re stuck in the bathroom trying to retrace the map that got you here. You lean on the wall, slide to the floor as the shouting grows stronger, loud bang on the door. If you climbed out the window where would you go? How could you run carrying that heavy sky on your shoulders? —Kathleen Aguero
”
”