POETRY
Dancing With Rain
a poem

The dust is still here
the cobwebs, new filth where laughter used to be our unspoken vow
And like a seed born for the wind — I must leave it all behind.
There are new stains. Rotten potatoes, gnats. It’s all very symbolic, really.
Things die where lies are sown.
There, the dresser that used to hide my intimates, my nightgowns, the scarf my grandmother once wore,
now topped with your jar of change and the bottle of pills with some other woman’s name
And I, a seed, cannot be cleansed if I cling to places with no hope for rain.
Tonight, I sleep in your bed alone one last time and before you return home
I’ll be gone. I’ll be on the wind. I’ll be dancing with rain.
This poem is written in response to POMprompt #18: I don’t belong here.
Christina M. Ward 2020 Thank you for reading.






