Two Kids

Cherry blossoms spring quietly                         

into April’s existence 

I stand in the doorway, wonder how I’d look: 

dripping with rain,

as I am now

I wouldn’t have to go outside to know 

it pours— 

open curtains, scrutinize streets,

lament at the teasing of the warm day before 

I’d track the sliding of droplets from my hairline

tiptoeing across the desert expanse of skin

down the bridge of my nose

down the foothills of my bones 

until it jumped off the brink 

It’s raining

I’d say to me 

no question

just finality

Two kids just trying to make it right

           so many strings attached, holding us accountable

 the power of wishing and growing,

trying to grasp what we can’t see—

what we can’t feel,

and become what we expected;

we see everything

  turn bright and beautiful

when did they start to love us so?

when did they start to believe in us?

when did they start to see us?

countless sorries and silent streams for you and me, to drip

only to realize that we’re simply a star in shaping,

only a glimpse at our old selves,

only that we need each other 

to bring out the best of us

and maybe, finally,

to let go of the darkness that swallowed us whole.