Trade Wind Memory

This fire raising December breeze reminds me of Kaneohe trade winds where I’d lay in my twin bed with my arms stringently crossed over my flat chest listening to the roaring breath words of the ocean with wide eyes wide awake laying flat as if I were standing still willing myself invisible watching the ceiling above my head and all the life that morphed every few seconds into alien beings and monsters and the father that stared back at me not waiting for a response to a conversation I was having in my head with my closed lips silent mouth yearning peace in a child like Hell of silent screams.