Only Rain

Original published April 8, 2016 in These Fifty States

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The last time the rain fell this hard
I wasn’t in Florida at all,

we were in Michigan
where the summer consumed us
we rolled up our pants and waded through city streets
full of car parts

Now I watch the rain
spit into itself

thunder
the gutter
the slow drip of our linens

the sky wrings itself out

Time, for me
seems to pass like this rain

that makes
all green
greener, all gray
grayer

that wails
to the ground then
shatters, spraying upward

the water falls into itself, and loses itself
to itself

Lawn chairs lean against the screened-in porch
palms dangle their fingers
banana leaves bend backwards and drip like tongues

It’s only rain
but it is everything