tremors

nowhere near a fault line we still ripple at the mercy of the lithosphere. the witching hours are still until the city shakes. some wake to the crack of thunder from the ground. some hear the rattle of crockery and glass in kitchen cupboards. others sleep on undisturbed, vacant bodies lying blissfully oblivious, lost for now to dreams in worlds that only they can reach.

the earthquake breaks a magnitude of 4.8. still awake I don't hear the thunder / feel the tremors. what is strong enough to shake a freshly fractured heart? I think about how nothing major comes announced / with warning. the car crashed between one home and a picnic. recovery is a phone call and unwanted change of plans. you surfaced first in blue light at my fingertips. we kissed first on the wrong end of the bed. we vanish with a conversation you have written. the sky falls on a Tuesday afternoon with dinner plans.

when I wake I see the earthquake on the news, making ripples in the headlines. aftershocks are echoed still in conversations. I wonder if you felt it in the way that I still do.