The rain fills the windows up to my ears
As if it doesn’t want me to hear him say it,
Again. I am so sorry, baby, I am so sorry.
I turn my head and blow into his ear
With the breath of these last fall drops,
Filling his head with cool wisps of what
Will someday turn into beautiful, crisp flakes,
Ignoring the fist at our window that
Does not care about the word sorry.
A word turning the trees into the walk
Of an old man, not because they cannot
Stand the rain, but because they have
Grown stooped, used to the pounding
Weight of its constant, heavy drops.
And for that, I too, am sorry.
I close the blinds, pull his dark
Curls onto my stomach, and wait for
The rain to fill me up to my eyes.
Rosa Canales is a recent graduate of Denison University. Her work has appeared in Capsule Stories, Lammergeier, perhappened mag, and the Sigma Tau Delta Review.
Eunoia Review 