Why I Love the Rain

Underneath my 3rd story window

The serpentine alleyway floods

And augments the pitter-patter of this

Rare February rainstorm and I am

Instantly sucked into the buzzing vortex

Of my Minnesotan childhood,

Hearing that same pitter-patter from my

Father's drumming fingers on the

Dashboard of his

Indestructible Mazda minivan.

I smile, drowning in my

Battered red t-shirt my mother

Promised I'd grow into.

Licking my licorice lips

I blink

And awaken now to the roaring waves of the

Lake, with my lover on the lonely beach.

3am, she rapped on my window and

We stole an hour from God without

Paying the consequence, without Him catching us.

Simply fumbling to the light of the stars

We loved each other carelessly as though

That moment

Would never flee from us.

For an hour, I believed it wouldn't.

And now, here I am watching

Flashes roll down the wet Hollywood streets

Making rhythm with the rain like some

Honest refugee.

Out my window a black woman buys

Cigarettes from the gas station on Vineland.

She wears a big red t-shirt.

She looks up at my curious window, and

We are somehow forever connected in this storm.

If only I could reach out to her and

Show her what I see in this drizzling paradise,

And calling out to her

I could tell her

Why I love the rain.