In the solitude of these hours
the house slowly wakes.
Plastic garbage bags strewn about
a first year of college is finally over.
Today is like the first day of summer,
even if it were a month too soon.
The sky looks so differently here,
the previous years of drought are gone.
The memory floods at this window
unseasonable rain pours.
A lit cigarette interrupts the clean air
and it’s all the same.
The unpaid balances of yesterday
still remain the same today.
Many of these instructional hours
where one is truly learning
is spent in solitude’s tepid grasp.
Todays pouring rain
promises the day to start even later.
The house is quiet
it’s just past noon and
breakfast was either skipped
or not started,