In the Interstice

I’m a woman in possession of her life,
and sometimes that’s enough
in the flash of Christmas lights
and police lights, bells ringing
everywhere. Coming out of the store
on this night before Thanksgiving,
I’m momentarily puzzled over
wet pavement, mist on my face,
as if, in the interstice between
my city exploding and the sick joke
of  ill-timed holidays, rain should not fit.

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