winter and christmas mean white on the other side of the ocean, but here it's red.
because it came back with a great, red fury and the whole world felt it.
it shoved its way down throats and in noses, weaseled between the screen and infiltrated the private sectors of our lungs.
the sky chokes, our lungs cough and the sun feels far away.
the wind blows on us, down from the sahara, with the delicious cool and the gritty sand.
eyes squinch, skin cracks and peels, begging for the moisture that august took with it when he left.
it burns to breathe and great poofs of dust hit my face when i take the clothes off the line, now only clean in word.