Poetry Shii

Looking for Comfort

I sit alone in a rocking chair

Listening to the individual

Creaks

In the fragile wood

Looking for comfort.

A mushroom cloud waves hello in the distance.

I ignore it

I do not wave back.

A scattered silence beckons for my attention

I oblige

And reach for a photo album.

The pages are tattered and worn

But a feeling of warmth fills my senses as I

inhale the leather binding.

I flip to the first page

My fingers caress the edges and

balance on the corners.

As I roam through the different memories

The color drains from my face.

I do not remember it this way.

I flip to the next page.

And the next.

And the next.

A single question

Seeps into my skin like rainwater

When did we start wearing gas masks?