The Little Yellow House Across the Street.

A muted, comforting yellow.

With its roof panels chipping,

Old age peeks through.

The birds building nests in between the panels’ wedges

Suddenly, the sky flashes.

Oh, a storm is here.

One big cloud, picking up its speed.

Gliding in the air, along with the soft drops of rain

The soft yellow becomes dark

Charred mustard is its resemblance

The birds run inside their little homes, ready to sleep

Tiny wet footprints follow

Asleep among the serene chaos

A muted, comforting yellow.

Behind my ear, a shout.

“Hey!”

My mother rushes past,

Making sure to catch the mailman.

She retrieves her package successfully.

Eagerly, she shows its contents.

A timer for my brother, so he can wake up himself.

And his medicine, so he can stay calm during his meltdowns.

A bright yellow bus is now in my remembrance

I have to pick him up in an hour.

My mind flashes, as I come to reality.

He is my responsibility.

Everything is my responsibility.

I’m not one of those birds with their tiny wet footprints.

As we all want to sleep among this serene chaos,

We can't.

A loud, distressed feeling.