Rain In West Houston
Houston, and rain again
Cars slow along the street
To the swish of windshield wipers back and forth,
Back and forth,
To erase the drops
Or the memory trail in streaks of water
And worse —
The floods of Harvey
When it seemed the rain would never stop.
Rain falls on my garden
On the sunflowers, bright crowns of yellow stretching to
find the sun
now bowed with the weight of the rain.
They’re especially tall this year, taller than I am
Or will ever be. I am done growing
But they grow on.
Rain falls on the cement sidewalk
where acorns have begun to sprout in the cracks —
New trees that will see more storms
More rain that will pour off this roof or maybe another
When I’m no longer here to see it.
The incessant drips,
A voice disproportionate to their size,
Or maybe that’s just now, after the floods,
Now I hear it
They tap the surface of the dark grey metal barbecue cover,
Neglected and silent
until the rain makes of it a drum
On vacation from summer vacation
No neighbors come tonight, no friends to celebrate a
summer evening
clutching bottles of beer that warm faster than we can drink,
Drops of condensation
those timid reminders of days like this one,
Everything saturated with wet.
Originally Featured in Still Life: Atlas Of Imaginary Places.
