And it Began to Pour
There is no explanation for
the way the rain seems to come
on us when we are in sudden
postures like tall statues
smiling briskly in the sunshine.
We melt to running figures, with long
and languid limbs, sweeping
across the fields of sidewalks and arbors
to awnings and overhanging branches.
The most fortunate community
seeks sanctuary in small squares, dripping
laughter and squeezing dry
their coats and hair.
We push closer to each other
teeth chattering business about
first names and opinions on poor weather.
When the clouds pull away like taffy
or melted cheese and the sun heeds
its warmth upon our heads
we gently congratulate eachother
on surviving the storm
and march on, toward lit homes.
Something Beautiful,
fireplaces, christmas lights, light rain on gray days, Berna's laugh, giddy girls getting ready to go to a party, waking up in the middle of the night because of a poem, vacuuming in heels (seriously did it the otherday), getting caught dancing in my underwear by B, green clay facial masks with a towel turban, sweater socks, legwarmers!!, new haircuts, searching for the perfect book of crossword puzzles, convincing my sister to stay home, tornado sirens, christmas music (all day, all week on the Wind), hot tea, falling alseep in the afternoon, shopping for the perfect literary magazine, my new poster above my bed,"sweet romance!", his arms around her, spending a sunday at the hospital, reminiscing about Boulder, trips abroad, thrift shopping for the perfect blazer, new scarfs, the kiss that turned all of our heads, my dead flowers (they are still yellow though), my electric guitar impression, making sangria, sexonthebeach with nicole-fruity girlness hardcore, coming up with the most ridiculous t-shirt sayings, falling alseep laughing, poems about penises (it was really awkward reading out loud but once it was finished I felt liberated), talking to my dad, barnes and noble dates with mari, walking down pickwick street with b, wishing very badly that things wouldn't change so quickly, looking up plane tickets to London, being free to do anything in five months, being scared to death to graduate, senior class gifts, winter shoes, my new blue coat, homemade fires (all you need are a bunch of candles and marshmellows with toothpicks), beer and pizza with the ladies, thanksgiving feasts, and listening for the first time to someone when they say that this place we are in (this place of transition) is beautiful.
B and I
dance like gypsies
when the rain comes
down in fat drops
breaking on the impact
against our heads.
And once, when it poured
we swam in the crevices
of alley ways with dead leaves
and plastic cups, our feet
barely visible in the murky pools.
We sat on the edge of sidewalks
talking about men or the next
steps from here, letting the rain
soak us up. B and I, we carry
our sandals, choose to walk
bare-feet and wily--
me in longs skirts,
her in shorts. I crack jokes
about the pavement, better than pedicures,
our soles burning quietly
from the abrasive ground. She mentions
about how romantic kisses are
in times like these.
I say, we need men,
in rains like these.
B and I, we will walk home
looking like a picture,
two girls hand in hand
best friends, dancing like
gypsies down the sidewalk.
