Eyes slide lazily open, contracting disdainfully
But meeting with no illumination.
Gray filters in through the open window
A charming orphan’s blanket of sorrow.
The floor is covered in ash, the scent of smoke
Dominates the feeble vanilla Glade plug-in.
Fingers trace the outline of the nightstand
Coyly, anticipating the bottom of the earth to fall.
Tremulous cries ring out in the streets.
Carnage holds sway, transforming the picture window
Into a hideous scene of apocalypse.
The shallow glimmers of pale sun
Streaming down from the sky in billowy rivulets
Closely resemble a thunderstorm of steamy smoke on fire.
She can’t remember how it began
Nor predict how it will end
But this gruesome mockery of a rainy day
Prevented the gasp echoing in her lungs
From escaping into the atmosphere.
It had ended
And where were her enlightened ideas now?