All week the sky hangs low
pressing its breaths onto the city pavement
and combing slick fingers
through ruffled hair
The sun plays hide and go seek
But hides and disappears
Wasting himself away
behind a canopy of fog
It has been raining since Monday
and the people are growing angsty from
the constant drip drumming
of rain pressing its palms onto window panes
I search for Hermes in my phone book
Surely he will know who to deliver my message to:
Dear atmosphere
I only have so many muted colors in my wardrobe
to reflect your August blues
And I whip up a batch of chocolate cookies
and place it on the windowsill
so the scent of sugar and vanilla may calm the brooding heavens.
JULIE CHEN
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