Tanya R.

 She won't confess

But she is still afraid

Of thunderstorms.


The beach is warm.

Her toes slide through

The baking sands,

The pressing waves,

And polished pebbles.

She's collecting shells

And watching crawling water whispering,

"Nothing will ever change."


The world is strange,

Unsettling.

She swallows pills

To mash the panic down

And gazes over browns and yellows,

Praying grey surrounding the horizon

Foretells no rainfall.


- 1/17/25

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