November rain

BD Salvas

I’ve always had the most inexplicable sadness when it rains.
As soon as the sky is overwhelmed by billowing grey watch dogs I climb
Into my prison of sheets and listen to droning sound on my walls, waiting for
The rushed steps of feet up a library staircase to begin transmutation. Naiads glide
down on a Seussian water slide that loops like a funk beat, at 90 miles per hour,
To a crooked house in the clouds. I slumber in that pale pink lethargic heaven
Enveloped in heavily interconnected whispers where the atmosphere suffocates
In a chemical mix of chloroform and roses. And the faint stench of tobacco
Dabbles in hypnosis, lulling the spider legs that spasm above daydream factories
to churn out endless phantasms of clear green skies.

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BD Salvas is an emerging Black poet from Southern California. She uses her experiences as a Black queer person to write about sex, love, trauma, and nature. When she isn’t writing poetry BD is likely to be making fractal art, analyzing classical literature, or watching anime. Twitter: @BethDimanche

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