March 16, 2 p.m.
For the millionth time this week
almost frozen rain splats
against the windshield of my car
And even though I lucked into
the last spot in the school pickup line
I am one big petulant scowl, smoldering
as I wait for the bell to ring
I hate that rain
Then someone’s little brother, no more
than two or three, marches past the line of
minivans up to the schoolyard gate
He carries a red umbrella almost bigger than
he is and he’s holding it up in a valiant
proud grownup way
And the rain is letting up a bit
A slim tween girl walks toward me
serene beneath a rainbow-
and I notice she isn’t holding
the umbrella, it seems to hover above her
Then I realize she’s balancing it on her head
juking this way or that to keep it aloft
And now the rain is softer and
so am I
8 replies on “March 16, 2 p.m.”
I love this poem, as I love all your poetry. I was right there with you, being transformed by innocence and playfulness.
Thank you so much, Kate!
Oh, I love how you take such simple things like rain and these two little wanderers, the young one and the tween, and write this wonderful little mood-lifting poem. Thanks!
This is wonderful, especially as I go off in the rain to do pick-up.
Just wonderful, Sarah! You capture the moods of the weather and motherhood so perfectly!
Ah, Sarah– Your observations of the sweetness in this world help us all renew our openness, become soft and receptive. Thank you!
Thank you so much for your beautiful, kind words!
What a sweet poem. You captured something we all know but could not put into these words.