Today’s Rain

Today it is raining,

and it feels like

it could be

the same rain

you shook off the hood of your red and black chequered coat,

like a songbird making a show

out of cleaning her feathers,

while splashing the porch floor with the weather,

shuffling through the front door

on a lazy Sunday morning, feigning surprise

that I was “still in pyjamas at this time?!”.

Today it is raining

and it feels like

it could be

the same rain

that you always said was “good for the garden, good for the flowers” –

and now it’s washing over me

with traces of snug familiarity, 

drumming down and bouncing off the rooftop tiles,

spraying every window as a race of raindrops trailed by bored children, 

beating against glass already fogged-up by the outside’s icy breath. 

So amongst the warmth of this rain,

under the cover of its fuzzy guise,   

I called to you when no one was around.

Just so the room would know your name for a little bit

again,

as if it was a lazy Sunday morning and

you were here

in the front porch,

sprinkled in today’s rain,

ready to catch my call in your “cold hands (warm heart)”

and clasp it tight instead

of let it loose

to swirl at my feet

like a helicopter leaf

or like the rain outside swamping the drains.

I called to you

just to feel the weight of it lay down on my tongue again,

remind myself how the letters used to roll over one another in my throat and melt in my mouth,

listen to how it rang through the room

and busy the corridors as it bounced off the walls.

And it was nice at first

but as your name flooded through the dried-up valleys you left in me,

it reminded me that I am riddled with cracks,

just as I am laced with a nervous system,

and creased with deep and shallow lines across my palms,

and circled with tree-ring-prints atop my fingertips.

I am teeming with grooves dug into me from years of your watering,

now baked barren in your abandon.

It reminded me that you are held up now

only through poetry

and photo frames

and dog-eared phrases that make puppets out of me when I say them and today

you were held up by the rain

filling the cracks lining my body and my brain

when I called your name,

aching for it to sound the same

it did on any one of those lazy Sundays.

But if it did or it didn’t,

I know you were in today’s rain,

and that’s enough,

and that’s okay.

Image courtesy of Hannah Domsic

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