FicWad

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I packed my life up in the rain

shoved the boxes in a rental car

until the corners were all smashed

everything was wet

so I wiped my leaking eyes on my drenched sleeve

and went inside for an umbrella

to keep the rain off my shoulders

and out of my dripping hair

hanging against my back, soaking up the wet underneath



you waved at me from the porch

I almost missed it in the swipe of the whindshield-wipers

they didn't wipe the water off your face

and you refused to try, your hands

clutching the porch's wood railing like they'd squeeze

right through it, you couldn't let go

April is the worst time

to go, because it's all wet: the roads and your clothes

and your eyes, you can't see a thing

you can't see what's in front of you

can't look back, because you might crash in the rain



we sat together the night before

pretending I'd drive you to work in the morning

and pick you up that afternoon

did our best to ignore the boxes stacked around, normal

only you were sort of silent

and I was sort of tired

my eyes get all wet when I don't sleep, you know

it was raining outside, had been

for days and days; you told me

told me "not in April" because the weather isn't good

because my car's still in the shop, but really you would have said

"not in October, August, May, November"

and our kisses would have tasted like wet salt

so instead it was a logical, dry matter

the only dry thing all around

that's what I think about out on the highway

watching out for other drivers who find it hard to see through the rain



but it had to be April, dear

you know as well as I

the rain doesn't care, it doesn't know if it falls

from someone's eye, or the open ceiling of the world,

or even a crack in the roof

I should have fixed that, shouldn't I?

you're terrible with tools

maybe you'll find someone else to

patch up all the little cracks for you, nail things down

tighten loose bolts and sand down the porch rail

when it splinters where you clutch it

it's not a lifeline, dear

and you are not drowning

you can let go, you know



I packed up our life in the rain

and drove off with half of everything

carefully divided, but you kept all the bedsheets

you would, wouldn't you? those are your precious memories

myself, I took the tools - you just don't fix things

you never even tried, didn't have to; I was there before

well, there's time to learn everything, in April

your misery pelted the whindshield, your anger

boiled up from the radiator

don't resent it, dear

we both knew in March

that I'd be going in April