Gray Day by Paul Hostovsky

Luna Lovegood

Gray Day

 

It’s the almost that I love

about a gray day 

like today. In weather

like this, I almost 

feel a kind of joy:

the heavy sky, the feeling

in the air of imminent release.

I feel like I could almost 

cry. Cry as I haven’t 

since I was a boy. 

Because I haven’t let myself. 

The overcast sky says almost.

The charged air says could.

You could do this.

You could let yourself go, 

feel the thunderous sobs,

wave after wave, shoulders 

heaving, lungs emptying 

in that jagged way 

that almost looks like 

laughter. And the hiccuping 

like a child that comes after. 

It could feel so good, 

says this feeling in the air. 

Almost like joy, says the sky. 

(From Paul’s book, Late for the Gratitude Meeting, Kelsay Books, 2019)

© Paul Hostovsky

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Paul Hostovsky

Paul Hostovsky’s poems and essays appear widely online and in print. He has won a Pushcart Prize, two Best of the Net Awards, and has been featured on Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, and The Writer’s Almanac. He makes his living in Boston as a sign language interpreter. Follow Feed the Holy