• Allison B.


I hate the way rain lingers

the way it leaves its finger-

prints on everything it touches.

it taps me on my shoulder

like an unwelcome memory,

repeating itself over and over

and over again, troubling me

to confront these loose ends

I hate the way its earthy taste, waits

on my unopened lips, hoping I will slip.

it sneaks into my caramel coffee

and whirls her around like brushstrokes

of a carefree artist. most days, I paint

a smile on my face, but it is never mine.

the rain likes to smear it across, then

asks me why I’m never happy

before, I used to love the rain

the way its crisp scent would wrap

me up in its sturdy arms, entrap

my caution and throw it to the wind.

I’d love to wind my fingers with it

but the rain is never there when I

reach out, and I don’t want to wind

up wondering why I’ve drowned

take me to the boundless deserts

where I can be alone–where I can be at home.

I want to feel the warmth of the prodigal sun

and bury my heavy thoughts in the blankness

of sand. I need to forget this hurricane

because I might step back into it,

and remember only the fact that

I hate the way rain lingers.

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