the kind that wakes you from sleep not because you hear it, but because you feel it,
because the hair at the base of your neck prickles,
because there’s a charge to the air
even if the clouds outside the window haven’t fully gathered yet,
still loitering just beyond the tree line.
I am struck by the pale purple hyacinth in the dining room
the bold rose-coral hydrangea in the living room
the sprouted green cabbage
the white budding citrus.
this morning I want a hot, steaming bowl of buttery oatmeal
creamy and sweet and thick.
regina spektor and feist and ani difranco
bittersweet, bright, unstoppable.
ready for the sudden downpour.