…I will always let him in.
The Rain and I Are Lovers
When the rain taps at my window, I will always let him in.
The rain and I have been lovers for years.
Two nights ago, I walked into my bedroom, lay down on the humid-sticky sheets and turned off the bedside lamp.
I lay on the bed, with the window open, hoping the blue cool wind would wash across my bare legs.
I looked out into the green-black night and listened to the leaves of the maple tree shhhh-shhh against each other, like a bare hand pressed across a dry cotton shirt.
And then the rain came up.
It pelted the leaves,
the window sill.
Its small spattering kisses bouncing off the sill and hitting my knees,
Hello, rain. I have missed you.
I turned towards the window and snuggled into my bed.
I fell asleep to the quiet rhythm of wind and gentle rain drops,
which I could not see- only feel.
I awoke to the smell of rain; that moss-dirt, earthy clean.
And yellow-green leaves no longer heavy with humidity; they could rest in their lightness.
Small, clear puddles on my window sill.
I know you were here, Lover.
I can still smell