Amy Yun

The clouds fill the air
like a thick smoke
gray as the rocks,
bearing down on me
like walls of a cave.

It’s winter
but a sweatshirt
keeps me warm enough,
and it feels just like fall,
just like spring,
the clouds ever present
until summer
when I still
wear a sweatshirt.

Beyond the gray
I know the mountains
that stand like guardians
protecting my home
from the dust,
a rain shadow.

I long for summer
for sun on my face
but soon I
grow angry with the sun
and beg again
for my clouds
the comfort of my cave
where I can hide away.