It’s raining. It has always been raining.
Birthdays, weddings, funerals – so many
ceremonies and celebrations in the rain.
The survivors gather under umbrellas.
They watch their father, brother, mother,
lowered down in the ground in the rain.
They disappear in the rain. The roads are
slick, mud on our shoes, by their graves.
Someone has walked across my grave.
My ghosts are gathering in the other room.
They’re anxious, impatient, remembering
their birthdays and burials in the rain.
It’s a rainy Saturday. Games are cancelled,
parties postponed. We stand in the rain
under umbrellas, watching. It’s raining.
It has always been raining.