Unclaimed Weather

I used to watch the sky for you.

If your voice went tight,

I’d start gathering blankets

soft words, extra patience,

a laugh to lighten the room

before it got heavy.

﹁﹂

You’d roll in like weather

You refused to name:

sudden cold,

thunder behind your eyes,

a silence that soaked everything.

﹁﹂

And I, genius that I was,

tried to be a roof.

Tried to be an umbrella

with a cracked handle,

shaking and smiling

like I wasn’t getting drenched too.

﹁﹂

I learned the forecast by heart:

don’t challenge, don’t ask,

Don’t be too bright today.

Tiptoe.

Translate.

Take the blame early.

﹁﹂

But storms don’t become kinder

because you stand outside in them.

They just keep storming.

﹁﹂

So now, when the clouds gather,

I do something wild:

I let it be yours.

I don’t sprint to rescue the mood.

I don’t turn myself into shelter.

﹁﹂

I open my own windows.

I make tea.

I keep my voice level.

I keep my spine soft but steady.

﹁﹂

Your weather can pass through town

without taking my house.

That’s new.

That’s peace.

And I’m not giving it back.