Akhmatova

It was a long day, blazoned with hints from cumulous,

Forebodings—blackness in my wrists,

A fancy concerning self-harm—

As if customary sky may purchase

Or sell a life, in this case mine.

I’ve questions and no one to ask,

This static American business,

Bleaching yourself clear in public,

Being silent, a green chill

For a tongue. I was powerless

Today, strung across

My thirst with no one

To tell—correction—

The sun as strong as always.