An apology for what I cannot control

I’m so sorry
I punched a hole through the sun
And admired the burns
I didn’t realize I ruined the warmth
With my fist
Until night came
I can’t help but cry
In a field full of strawberries
And summertime nostalgia waiting to happen
Because I much prefer rainstorms
And sitting alone
And ignoring the knocks on my door
Until they fade into whispers of daylight
Shame drips down my cheeks
The same way it would
In a strawberry field
My clenched fist is ready
To shatter any light
And break the silence
Though I think it might be nice
To unclench
Breathe
And go outside
Without a damp face and stones on my chest
I wonder if I still own an umbrella

—By Emily Norton