Afternoon Out

The sky is as bruised as I am
and as tearful.

A menstruation every few minutes
cathartic for no reason
slightly magnificent
if you have the time.

Out of the corner of my eye
delicate grey cords stitch huge smudges to sodden fields
and whipped egg whites float above water.

All this, and people in the cafe still stare.

Yes, yes - I'm a survivor of something, just not sure what.

I still exist.
I suppose I prevail.