The rain relieves some of my pain
of a million tries that went in vain
the smell of the mud
the fall of the bud
the raincoats walking, wipers wiping
my moist eyes, skies falling
the slip of the child, his mother's hand
dusting his jacket, wiping the sand
scolding slightly, he understands
then my broken smile, and my salty cheeks
the moment when I couldn't speak
the smell of past years gripping me
and the fading away of my smile
my looking at that child
and getting out of breath for a while
all this happens deep in layers
of my brain perhaps, deep somewhere
are these true raindrops?
are they real? the tears?
Oh the Truth she told me
when she dusted her child clean
a feeling inborn, unseen
