i remember the air was balmy before we knew him.
desperate for a breeze we'd throw open every window -
dance, sweaty and barefoot, on an oak floor decades our senior.
something powerful and ancient came screaming out when we gathered:
chanting songs that reminded us of being young (chart toppers from three summers ago)
throwing our arms up, out, around each other (the joy was too big to hold on our own)
innocence sloshing rhythmically 'round the rims of our cups (three girlish grins colluding with six batting eyelashes to escape the consequence of some small town barkeep;
"my sir, i've no idea! that pink lemonade really got mixed
up with the wrong crowd!")
it was so hard to notice at first -
you, adultily checking the weather each day,
to help decide whether it'd be cold without a jacket, when to leave to beat the rain.
the world spun slowly on an axis of frilly distractions:
for us - a creaky maple porch swing and worn dive bar jukeboxes and whirling around the front lawn with boys,
for you - the weatherman, who had you lagging behind to apply sunscreen, to fiddle with your thermostat until it was just right.
as the air cooled around us, between us,
the checks kept piling up.
bit by bit, you transformed beneath his radar.
whether to wear that outfit, what activities would be appropriate to do;
the whetherman guided your when, your what, your wear.
snow fell.
you bundled up.
our toes froze stubbornly in high heels.
it grew so bad near Christmas we tore up the floorboards, "to keep it warm in here" he said.
each taking shifts to silently stoke the open flames,
our planks of red oak burning to a bright cherry, a blackened mahogany,
ash.
dawn broke.
you stood to fill the glasses, a muscle-memory intimacy interrupted by a brow furrow -
our lemonade was suddenly plain.
the last stubborn embers crackled television static through the stillness.
i looked up at the funeral pyre in the middle of our living room
and suddenly understood the term "meteorologist."
he'd collided into the group of us
and blown everything recognizable to pieces.
musée 