Night Air

 

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted by the night air streaming through the car window.

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted like wet laundry on a windy day;

Buffeted like a blanket of rage, of fatigue.

Buffeted, she said;

Buffeted.

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted like a world that couldn’t get quiet enough;

Buffeted like a cat call in the street, like a sly press in the subway.

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted like a memory of the last kiss from a lover, the last hug from a friend.

Buffeted like the regret of departure, the disappointment of arrival.

Buffeted, she said;

Buffeted.

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted like your stomach after a meal, or a memory, eaten too fast;

Buffeted like your heart when the last train has departed, when the last memory of your grandmother has faded.

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted by the night air, like it takes exception to your struggle.

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted by the night air, like it’s yearned for your arrival.

Buffeted, she said.

Buffeted.