by introverse
Zeus, the unbearably human god that he is,
decides to shake the apartment this afternoon.
i’m tucked inside the covers as he burns the sky
with rage, in search of his least favorite daughter.
as above—stone pillars pulverized and clouds in disarray,
so below—a line of trees catching fire, mortals stranded
in coffee shops without their raincoats. everything else
but this strange weather made the headlines today.
time must be a weightlifter; it can carry within minutes
an entire thunderstorm and a spectacle of lightning strikes
like it’s New Year’s Eve. it must be amazing to not be deathly
afraid of time and thunderbolts, and the gods that play gods
on the most quiet of days. in my hiding, i had stolen your
precious minutes. in my leaving, i hope you get them all back.