Carla Campbell: It is Night

Fall '13 TOC

It is night. I am eight years old
Standing on the front porch
Watching the rain pour down upon the city streets,
Creating reflection of city lights.

Glistening are the neon signs
of the liquor store from across the street.
The NOW OPEN sign flashes in front of me.
The excess waters flow
gurgling down into the sewers

It is night
The trees are silhouettes
Against the darken sky
At night all birds are black

The wind blows against my face
While my tears are mixing with the rain.
The yellow cab approach the curb, screeching to a halt,

Tires slip upon the wet pavement.
My mother opens the door to let me
and my two young brothers Into the cab.
The smell of cigarettes is imbedded into
the tan leather seats of the cab.
Nauseating me,
I cover my nose with my coat.

It is night
The trees are silhouettes
Against the darken sky
At night all birds are black

We drive down Washington Street
Rain plummets down onto the cab
Drumming the rooftop
The radio playing "It's a rainy night in Georgia"
I too wonder, if it is raining all over the world.

We leave for a few days, we return.
Our practiced ritual
My daily memory
My nightly dream

I am awake now.
The rain has gone, streets are dry
Trees are lit against the blue sky
And the painted birds are revealed.

::Next::

 

Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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