Sometimes The Rain
Sometimes the rain is an ovation: a sudden burst of rapture that stomps its feet and cheers my name like I’m Judy walking the plank of Carnegie Hall. Sometimes the rain is a sonata, heartbeats played on a Steinway. Sometimes it’s jazz, improvised lonely as a solo. Sometimes the rain is the city brought to its knees. Cars chug. Awnings become wartime umbrellas. Windows mist. Rooftops bathe. Someone screams. Someone remembers. Someone whispers a name out loud while I wait, like the rest of the world, for the storm to pass.
