“Why do I have to imagine this?”
Rain hitting the metal roof of the doublewide
(A redwood branch could fall down in this wind)
(Crush us in an instant)
In the mirror I am washing my face
(so familiar)
What if I wasn’t here
wasn’t looking in the mirror
wasn’t washing
It’s night
The house is quiet
They are sleeping in their beds
(just like this)
or awakened by the rain on the roof
he would see the same wind as me
but I would not be here
The house would be quiet
They would be sleeping
My face would not be in the mirror washed
They would be sleeping
The house is quiet
“Don’t speak to me like raindrops,”
he says to me
(I imagine him saying to me)
This article appears in Los Hechados.
Wanted to express my deep appreciation: this poem moves me more each time read. So evocative I look in the mirror to see if that poet is washing her face in the shadows over my shoulder…Thank you.