wind

april is the weirdest month by Laura Kochman

April is the weirdest month. I'm convinced that Philadelphia is constantly windy because it is a pathway between two rivers. My grandmother has forgotten my name, but remembers my brother-in-law. "Brother-in-law" is still a strange phrase to form. My hair blows in all directions. Another protein bar. In the mornings, I feed my cat twice before I feed myself. Following B around in books, I am learning and despairing. Another protein bar. Confession: at my desk I remove my shoes. There was a break in the rhythm of the procession of oxygen through my body this afternoon when I discovered that the office softball team is called the Tornados. An exclamatory email in the corner of my screen, my actual heart. A blessed protein bar. I made a joke about myself and regretted it. Timing targets. If I were the wind, I too would whip along the arterial streets.

by Laura Kochman

Last night I dreamed that I was in a house on a beach with my mother, and a hurricane was coming. All the other houses on the beach were hit in the wind, each one a rhombus leaning, but our house was still. I was terrified. My mother had complete confidence in our safety. There was a troop of Girl Scouts outside the house, a Girl Scout Beach Patrol, and they were insanely cheerful. All the women around me smiling and laughing into the wind.