Rain

I woke up on Monday morning to the threat of tornado, a "tornado watch" they call it. I realized that I have no idea what to do if a tornado hits. In the Northwest, they only trained us to be prepared for earthquakes. It seems like when you move to a different state, you should get some kind of a handbook, "What Terrible Things to Expect Here." It would only be fair.

I read this poem on Verse Daily yesterday, and really enjoy it. I thought I'd share it here; it seems good to share poems by people I don't know. This poem is by Marc Rahe. It is from his book The Smaller Half, which is available from Rescue Press.

Late


The cold night is starry.
The starlight has no warmth.
A loved one is standing
farther away, farther
than I can see.
The sky is getting darker
earlier. December's well-lit nights.
Sometimes waiting alone
after work, I feel
like I'm watching magic
on the window.
Like somewhere
white gloves raise to music
and there are car lights
passing streetlights.
The light inside the coke machine
outside the car wash across the avenue
is the same as the light of the stoplight.
That the light could almost change color
and mean its opposite.
Doesn't white, white snow turn
to spring flood? Can't a blue horizon
fill with warning? These things
happen. They're possible.
I have no music,
but sometimes when I'm waiting
I get patient.