my mother always told me to put a raincoat on.
still i'd go out into the drizzle and twirl until my face was
framed with little ringlets and the soles of my shoes were
filled with small puddles.
“oh honey,” she’d say
“you’re a mess.”
you loved to watch me dance,
but only in the rain.
i used to like the taste of honey.
on grey days i’d stepstool to the top cabinet
and fill myself with gold.
i should’ve known better than to mix it with cough syrup
because after awhile it all started to taste bitter.
you were the sweetest thing i'd put in my mouth since then.
you always told me to slow down,
enjoy the moment.
but life keeps beating on and
the rain doesn't cease to
just because we stop dancing,
so i twirl and twirl until i'm the one
and i'm left with wet clothes and bloody knees
but i never minded a mess,
oh and honey, i can’t stop making them.
wet skin on wet skin gives me goosebumps.
i think of you and i can’t stop shivering.
it's raining outside right now and i wish you'd call me back.
the outline of a cloud you drew in my fogged up window just came back after i took a hot shower. i can't stop tracing it.
my sister always told me that if i kept going out in the rain i’d catch a cold.
i’d laugh and swing open the door, because i love it when the pond floods
and fish are able to swim in my backyard.
my rain boots are still soggy from taking a step too deep.
you’d joke that i was lacking in rhythm,
every motion unpredictable like a storm.
so with the rain, i’d dip and turn and sway
to sweet, golden music
we’d keep time with one another,
following steps that only we knew.
my mother thinks i've gone mad
when she looks through the curtains and sees me
stomping and splashing in the backyard.
i forget my dance steps
and i’m trying to relearn them
but my knees are soaked with blood
and i can’t stop coughing
and i wish people would stop telling me what to do all the time.
you loved to watch me dance
oh honey, make the rain stop.
Content Edited By: Bernadette Becker