Poems

Her

But one day, on my way to the bunker, I see a silhouette in the fog.

I don't know who she is, but she calls out in the voice of a friend.

I invite her into my bunker, and we begin to walk.

It's quite a long walk. Dangerous, certainly.

She is bombarded by the storm’s winds, but I don't notice. I'm too desperate to get her to the bunker.

Until eventually, they grow so strong that she is flung out of the storm entirely.

She knows just how dangerous the storm is, so I assume she tells everyone not to come near, not to send supplies to the bunker. But she doesn't, and I don't know why.

Meanwhile, I expand the bunker. I try to leave doors near the edge of the storm, so people can come in when they need to.

But the walls are painted black with the shadows of failing to keep her safe.

So I don't let anyone in.

Not that I don't want the supplies, far from it.

But people simply don't know there's even a door.

They don't know someone is on the other side, starving.