Sometimes I wish
someone would come to take me away from this place
back to the city
I remember what it used to be like,
the place where I want to be
Rains would fall,
they were punctual, dependable
I learned to love the familiar cold caress of rain
I learned to love rain even when she wept despair on the city and its people
I learned to love the sound of rain,
the wet calypso drums
Here it is silent.
It's too quiet here
too cold and too austere
Day after day, silent snow heaps that time spoils with mud and exhaust
clutch to concrete curbs
The town drapes itself in dead, dormant greys
shields from the weather
folding into itself
I look for something to catch my eye again
flicker of something different to make something stir again
a cup of coffee with a friend
a secret to keep
to feel
questions hang in the stagnant air
Among greys
greys
Greys that engulf and smother
anesthetizing gas
that leaves all confused and sluggish in its wake
It trails across this place
inexorable
A pencil lies on my desk untouched
My instrument case lies unopened
My phone rings unanswered
Things cannot happen here in the choking pollution of impossibility
Things do not want to happen, they resist it
I wonder if it is like this year-round
or if the sun will eventually come to smile on this place
and wash away the tainted snow and disease
and people will shake themselves free from their toxic hibernation and crawl out from imprisoning burrows to resume life
like normal
I wonder if that is what I should wish for
I wait
What else can I do?