Some rains I’ve loved
In some, I’ve sung, and danced,
Kissed preludes to undying loves
(All soon to be dead, of course)
But this rain
Does not hold out its hand for a dance
It doesn’t murmur promises of
Thrilling memories
It tears the skies
It roars and threatens the
Rising of the ocean
(I often wonder what it would be like to
Walk into the ocean
I don’t know how to swim
But it’s the cold I most dread
In these imaginings)
This rain has locked me
In a tent
With my own children, and
A few of people I have never met
Surrounded by laughter
Their mischief
The wonder of sentences
Only they know how to weave into
Conversations they’ll soon
Forget they can have
I smile
Here and there
Because I must
So my children have
Memories of their mother
To remind myself that
The darkness within notwithstanding
I am alive, and well, but
This rain beats to the
Drums of my sorrow
Brings down in drops
Each big enough to flood a
Palm with woe
The weight of all the
A few relentlessly echoing
From the past
The impending ones somehow louder
The burden of their memories yet unborne
But already heavy,
Having begun crushing
Like these raindrops
Falling into my palm
My hand outstretched, as
In an offering
(Or had it been a plea?)
Here I am
You can touch me
Fill me
Take over me
But then you’ll leave
Isn’t that the Sun behind you?
Here it comes now, so
Let it be

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