You'll Write About Me

It was the fourth day of July.
It was still raining outside. It was beautiful by the window –
you could see the trees swaying to the music
of the wind, you could see shimmers pricking the sky into stars
of the night;
they fell like snow – that feeling of love.

Rain sometimes brings back memories,

the sound of water splitting the earth opens the mind and
fills it with smoke, that is,
a cold night is a journey into thoughts and a black coffee helps to
break the silence but it’s more peaceful when it’s quiet –

because that’s when I heard his voice, it came from outside, I
couldn’t see him clearly, the rain was covering his face so
it was hard to tell if he was crying or not.
He seemed like he was okay. He made no jokes of my
shady skin or my tummy or my shaggy hair or anything;
he was just there, standing, staring.

Then he said,
do you remember when we danced in the rain?

Then, we were still alive and we knew that
water running over our skin was us being brave.
The world doesn’t care,
they say fathers are supposed to care for their sons,
but they don’t mean love really; they say
it’s feminine – girls only were made to love.
He looked at me and then he
turned to walk away.
I couldn’t allow him to just walk so I said happiness
just to stall. He smiled and nodded and
continued to walk, then I asked,

How shall I find my way back?

This time he didn’t turn around,
he said,
you’re already lost and lonely but the sun
will soon rise;

he said,
when you wake, you’ll write about me.

poem was first published by Praxis magazine

Image Credit: pixabay.com