Windy

Writing poetry on my bed. Where there is nothing. Only the sound of the microwave. I write about the wind, flowers, and smiles. Headphones in, so music stays in my head. I was in a hospital once. Trembling. My computer has a glitch, I can feel the wind restlessly pulling. When they open the door to let us outside into the fenced in yard. I can feel that. Writing poetry on a strange bed. There was nothing except- The medicine counter, who would call me. The doctor, who would call me. I was in a hospital once…once- I was… For a glitch in my head- it was windy that day…strange that way, that bed. My mom hates when I write. She says to go to bed. The wind will be back tomorrow.