30 November 2009

The Rolling Rain

Rain on the rooftop out of our window,
the distant sound of applause, or gasps.

We sit dividing our belongings
the paintings yours
the candles mine
my bookshelf that held
some of your books

Mixed in with the thunder
the crack of the wood
Wind knocking a tree limb
onto the neighbor’s garage

You told me how I needed to learn
how to appreciate things in life more
that you were taken for granted.

On our air conditioner and windows,
the frantic sounds of rain jazz.
Untouched cigarettes burn as I sip tea
you drink water

Silent together in a half empty kitchen.
The storm door breaks off its hinges
shattering into a puddle in the backyard.

I turned off the final light as I left.

1 comment:

Ciara said...

There is a resigned sadness to a lot of your poems and writings, yet also at times a sense of hope.

Thank you for your raw honesty, Bryan. It truly is a gift.