Writing in the Rain


I saw a piece of your hair in the sink today.

I thought I’d wipe it away:
Pinch it in my fingers
Let the water run
Washing it down the drain;
Which got me really sad—
In the end
I left it where it was.

I wish I could be your best friend.
I’d ask questions, and let you talk about yourself…
You’d tell that story
About your seven siblings
Fighting for food;
How one threw the fork,
And it stuck in the forehead
Of another.

If I were a painter

I would turn over
Two cans of “Cerulean” Blue,
One can of “Forest” Green.
I’d capture your essence
In an impressionistic portrait
Of you,
Draped around a throne made of cherries;
Which you’d call “red fruit.”
And sure you’d crunch your nose,
Then roll your eyes,
But I’d have captured your essence
In color—
And that doesn’t happen everyday.

I was looking
For something to remind me of you;
And that’s when I saw in the sink,
A piece of your hair.

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