The Roommate

So she saw me that way,

wild-eyed with hair tossed

this way and that

buffeted on the Brooklyn breeze.

Waking that morning, the first

glimmer of summer sun

filtered through the drapes and I

pulled them back.

Light spilling down my face, I

lifted the heavy glass window

stretching from

hardwood to crown molding.

Clambered into the magic

of the morning glow trickling

onto the sill, where the wind ruffled my curls,

my bronze fingertips thrown open.

A perfect morning to

celebrate being alive

was not what she thought

when she flailed her hands

behind me and pushed me out.