Hello, November

Nowhere Street: write

         11/26/18

It really is incredible how bare the streets are when it's raining.

Dull gray, white lines, neon lights on sky; hopping crows, dripping evergreens, oh, the puddles leer at me. So I look away, close my eyes, feel heels upon the ground. Take a step, one more, then another.

I am walking on gravel now, the small rocks scattering where my feet go. I am a dainty one, I pretend. I part the waters where I pass.

I open my eyes. I'm on a narrow side-street, seems rarely trod upon. Ornaments from dead tulip trees clutter the roadside needles, clutter the mid-road grass that stretches like dancers' ribbon as far as my poor eyes see.

I look up. The sky is a heavy gray, its falling streaks gathering in a mass in my stomach. It drenches my hair, long and waved, drenches my heels, tall and fragile. It will frost tonight.

I see no crows here, no frivolous squirrels, no stop signs or yieldings or indication of life--only the dead tulip kisses beginning to rot on the gravel.

I'm just two black heels walking down Nowhere Street.

It's not marked with a name but now I know--now I feel--I'm not the only one who has been here. I think there are others here but they hide their faces from me, ashamed. Yes, now I feel their gazes burning into my very skin, I feel their judgment, as if they aren't here with me.

Tears well in my eyes. So I look away, close them, feel heels upon the ground. Take a step, one more, then another.

I look around me. Same dull gray, same neon lights, same dripping evergreens.

It really is incredible how bare the streets are when it's raining.