Storm Shelter in Pickles

Before it gets here

my skin explodes in rashes

to warn of

the nights coming

hitched traveler

with large luggage

taking more space

occupying fast

as the light of the sun fade

this year

I

earnestly wait

for the jalapeños to pickle

okra too

turn the mason lid once

release the gas, a sigh

relaxed

turn it back, tighten

the routine at morning light

kept me going

forward

I was their only release valve

otherwise

It drags,

like a spell

where my bottom quietly

finds the left nook of the couch

fingers holding tight, blankets

warm

to keep from digging too far in

losing pieces

giving up to matted, greasy hair

and stillness

for weeks on end

this time, I’ll do it for the pickles.