These dark, rainy mornings encourage prolonged sleep, retreating back to bed, the world outside loud water, the cloud, a weighted comfortor. Coffee (the weapon) is (hot, black,) powerful, bitter, earthy clarity that breaks through the muffling sky and fire peeks through, evaporation, drops shrink on banana leaves, steam rises from roofs. Power tools start at the forever construction site next door, it makes me anxious, that sound. No problem, I tell myself, there’s plenty of time. And a text exchange with my mom about sunscreen, bras, preferences and recommendations. Mine (as expected) somewhat different from hers.
