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A Half Inch of Rain

I loved rain

When home used to be

Across the Pacific.

Rain with its shallow ditches

Carrying earth colored

Water to their brims,

And fresh asphalt,

Black only moments ago

And shining in the sun,

Washing away in rivulets

Of tiny stones.

I loved its scents:

A wok with scalding oil,

Recycled

Perhaps more than once

And chick-pea flour

Kneaded to perfection,

Fried — golden grease.

And its sights:

Two streets down,

And one graveyard away

There was a row of shacks.

Filthy, beautiful,

Homeless children

Ran upon their naked legs,

Swam in the ditches

With junkyard tires

Around their waists,

Smiled toothlessly,

And waved at me

When I sat near the window

And watched

The rain that I loved

Fall, fall, fall,

In my world.

It rained today

On this side of the Pacific,

And I walked five miles

On good quality asphalt.

My shoes filled with water

On a lonely road,

Corporate and odorless.

There was a poster on the bus stop

With four children

In their polo shirts

And neat haircuts.

“Please slow down for us,”

It said.

I slowed down

Under the cover of my umbrella

With two cold, soaked feet,

And waved at their frozen smiles.

It rained today.

I walked in it

And felt it

Fall, fall, fall,

In my world.