By ALICE KING

The rain has an order to it
Like poetry
Like books on shelves in the library
It quiets construction sounds
Until all we hear is the patter and the rustle of trees
As their leaves drip and shake water from their green faces
Rain pushes people out of sacred forests
And lets the mountains breathe again
Bold blue mist faces claim their spaces
Royal blue, ocean blue, blue like a faded Polaroid

Drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip rain
drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip

Nostalgia has the face of rain
We think of unremembered feelings
Wanderlust crying like an abused child in our breasts
We wanted to travel once long ago
We wanted to see the world
Until we saw it in someone else’s eyes

Longing has the sound of rain
Soft crying in the dead of night
When we think of a love lost
A love unrequited
A love that made us feel whole
While it ripped shreds of our hearts