My Break in the Rain

I met you as a wanderer–a restless aching soul. Like a storm out of Ohio, I blew in with the cold. You asked if I liked hockey, and if I wanted to go to see the minor leagues play, since we talk all afternoon. Kept a secret from our bosses, know that they wouldn’t approve. You were too afraid to kiss me, so I had to make the move. You were my break in the rain–the hour of sun on our wedding day. You were the light on Laurel Lake singing “Satisfied” in harmony,and I just wanted to be tethered to you endlessly. You moved into my apartment. Been together a few months. It’s a dated little shithole–four people living there at once. When we moved out in the springtime, still had the Christmas tree left up. Begged you to walk with me through DC, up 17th Street heading north, over all the cherry blossoms that had blown off in the storm. Put our feet into the fountain. Told you I loved you to your core. You were my break in the rain–my arch of hydrangeas and peonies. You were the light on Laurel Lake–the summer Carolina humidity, and I just wanted to be tethered to you endlessly.