Something's Awry

Something is confused. The sky perhaps? It's a dismal gray, though the lake is thawed and flowing and the thermometer is hinting at spring. A dozen crows have descended on the lawn. Their inky black feathers look shiny and wet, but there is no rain.

It's a Friday that's carrying the deadweight of a Monday. The very day is confused. Fitting for my mood.

A decade ago, her son was a brother to me, as much as she was a mother. Today he's sleeping on a futon in a friends trailer, hiding from the wife who stabbed him with scissors in the middle of the night. The woman who roped him with a child three years ago. The woman who beats him, then herself and blames him when the police come knocking. The woman who told him not to bother getting her anything on Valentines Day, because her boyfriend would take care of it.

This is how my dearest cousin has come to wake up, shivering for want of a blanket on a futon in a trailer.

This is how I've come to question where the sun is on this dreariest of Friday mornings.