for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.


She folds her arms on the table and turns a limp head to the window; the gray sky meets her sad eyes. She crumples on her slack arms and sighs, what lonely weather.

I watch her head drop on sunflowers blooming on the vinyl kitchen cloth where she works all day. The blossoms blaze around her. When she looks back at the sky, her eyes glisten with tears now pooling.

I snap out of my stare and tell her, it’s only the rain. But in my mind, I wail at the weeping sky, who is it that came snuffing out the sun?

Then I begin telling this woman, it’s only rain, and it’s fine too, like a baby’s hair. How could it hurt you? Look how it falls — like a touch. And watch how it splatters on that window — like sweet crystals that wash the grime and the sadness off the air. See how the sky would tauten soon — like the skin of a man’s arm.

And the woman laughs at the thought of a man’s arm crooked around her, scented sweet and strong by the rain. She laughs splaying her own arms over the sunflowers she couldn’t seem to see.

Copyright © 2001 by Alegria Imperial/Posted in and myjournal

For reading this piece again, and remembering the moment I wrote it, I give myself $300 as my ‘jornal’.

What’s yours?

February 6, 2009 Posted by | poetry | , , | Leave a comment