Rain, coming in from the west, in four parts

 

by Lauren Marie Cappello

 

 

 

 

I.

 

She found the sky

To be a commotion,

Reiterating constellations,

Questions, heartbeats,

Measuring their meter

In thunder.  She tried not

To nurture these

Answers with water,

But still she would not

Close the sky.

 

 

 

II.

 

She recognized a

Reflection in the shine

Of his boots, or rather,

In the hollow of the sole

Where it split from

The seams —

She noticed a few

Blades of grass,

Springy through

Cracked asphalt,

Harboring enough hope

To play in traffic.

 

 

 

III.

 

She was also

A river; keeping

The rain in buckets,

Claiming the clouds

Were only offering

The earth a loan —

That the sky as

Much deeper than

Anything below it.

 

She didn’t

Turn down the sky

When it offered her

The underside of

Scaffolding.  The soggy

Mop bottom of her

Dresses never weighed

Her down with

Heliocentrism, or

The vastness of

Bright heavenly

Bodies.

 

 

 

IV.

 

What did frighten her

Was the way it was

His eyes through a mirror,

(she was keen on the

Potential for clouds)

 

Honestly, she kept

The sky open because

She was afraid of

The dark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poems by contributing editor Lauren Marie Cappello have appeared online at Polarity and in print in By the Overpass #1 and in the 2011 Uphook Press anthology, gape seed.