When it Rains

When it rains,
I ponder over how many people
Are looking up
Instead of down.
I think of everyone in this close proximity
Who
For once
Are experiencing exactly what I am.
Anything my mind conjures up
Situations, confrontations, celebrations,
Could be possible…

My French teacher at home
Voicing her life lessons while
Cooking an aromatic Italian meal of spaghetti.
Her long wispy hair flying out behind her,
Like a cloak of wisdom.

She whispers,
Vous vous debrouilles
You are managing.
You cannot control anyone else
Only how you react every day of your life.

I wonder
How when you cross a secret line
Where the cloud ends
Only one part of you is drenched
And the other perfectly dry.

I ask myself,
If there are some people
Praying frantically for my rain
To wash away their worries,
Others who despise it, a river of black
Darkening their lives.
And some who will never notice.

But slowly I wander back
To my rusty windowpane
Looking out at a creaky basketball hoop
And carefully trimmed junipers.
To the dizzying humming that
Soothes the shivers that run up my spine,

And I am comforted,
That so many are connected,
When it rains.