LTM-March 2014

It’s raining. 
Everyone crowds 
beneath the awning; 
a humid mass
bodies, cigarette smoke, 
foggy breath.

You and I stand out 
in the rain. Watching, 
declining offers 
to make room. 
Sans umbrellas 
Sans hats

They shake their heads at us. 
“You’re weird”. 
We shake our heads at them. 
“You’re silly.” 

It’s just rain.

I wonder if you like the rain, 
or is it claustrophobia?
You eye the small gaps 
between people 
like each is a prison. 
Bars made of proximity,
friendship, 
instead of metal 
and concrete.

I jump in a puddle, 
laughing, 
tilt my head back, 
spread my arms wide. 
Reminder, no prison. 
Just clean, cool air, 
and water from 
the sky.

I remember the smell 
of my wet wool sweater, 
the feel of my wet glasses 
sliding down my nose, 
the rain halo 
around your curly 
blond hair, 
as you join me in
puddle splashing. 

Making of it
your own dance 
and ritual.