It Rains Memory
Rain pours grief among the silhouette length of trees,
hammers or tap-dances on my roof,
or sending Morse code for help.
Both yesterday and tomorrow are dreams.
Yesterday reminds me about missed opportunities,
bad decisions, screwed-tight angry faces.
Tomorrow whispers promises. Today, rains
makes piano chords of sorrow in my heart.
My face drenches on a window.
It rains body bags.
Rain never falls twice the same way
sounds of gunfire, collateral damage reports.
I keep reminding myself
about the commonness of rain.
No flashback lightnings. No burials.
A normal rain Gene Kelly danced in,
kicking street puddles,
tossing away a broken umbrella.
Rain raising new flower shoots.
No gunshots. No identified bodies,
matching them with dog tags during war.
No messages for rescue; rescue arriving too late.
In the deluge, sparrows chatter.
I tell myself this is normal. They’re excited.
I tell myself, I’m home,
not sending bodies back from Vietnam.
I repeat, I’m home, not believing it,
pinching myself.
No. It’s rain on my arms.
This is normal.
I made it home.
*
Martin Willitts Jr is an editor of Comstock Review. He won 2014 Dylan Thomas International Poetry Contest; Stephen A. DiBiase Poetry Prize, 2018; Editor’s Choice, Rattle Ekphrastic Challenge, December, 2020; 17th Annual Sejong Writing Competition, 2022. His 21 full-length collections include the Blue Light Award 2019, “The Temporary World”. His recent books are “Harvest Time” (Deerbrook Editions, 2021); “All Wars Are the Same War” (FutureCycle Press, 2022); “Not Only the Extraordinary are Exiting the Dream World (Flowstone Press, 2022); “Ethereal Flowers” (Shanti Press, 2023); “Rain Followed Me Home” (Glass Lyre Press, 2023); and “Leaving Nothing Behind” (Fernwood Press, 2023). Forthcoming is “The Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji” with colored pictures (Shanti Press, 2024).
