Temperature Return

Still cold after the rain stops. These days,
we leave the windows open to air out the particles
of people who sat on the floor last night.
In the morning, the petals have fallen off the cherry trees,

and I’ve lost the poem I was writing last night, 
while I tucked myself into the wardrobe and listened 
to everyone’s voices like I was invisible in the way

I have always wished for. I don’t mind not always being
one of the vital organs. Anyway, I opened the wardrobe, tumbled out
on top of Dorothy’s legs. Everyone thought it was so funny,
and I kept saying, guys, it’s not a metaphor, I just like it in here. 

They were counting; I had to say “seven” upon returning.
I wasn’t cold. I was only feeling like a walk to the corner store
or like wearing more earth tones
or like calling the plumber because the pipes have frozen,
but by the time they get there the pipes are fine, and you feel embarrassed.

In the morning, it starts hailing,
and I don’t have a stomachache. But I’ve dreamed
we were all in a planetarium and someone was angry with me.
I put on pants, but the pants are uneasy.
The particles are gone. The particles may still be here.

---

Naima Saini (she/her) was a student at Vassar College, where she studied cognitive science with a minor in education.