Rain Drops

Rain Drops

It started with a single drop,

a drip, a splash, a soft kerplop.

I said, “It’s raining.” He said, “nope.

That’s just your feelings. Learn to cope.”

But soon the sky began to weep,

my socks were drowned two puddles deep.

Still he declared, “You’re being weird.

There’s not a single cloud up here.”

When thunder grumbled far away,

he sighed, “that's dramatic, not today.”

And though the wind disturbed my hair,

I told myself there’s nothing there.

I packed away my questions, small,

they didn’t seem to count at all.

I learned to smile and not explain

the apprehension that comes with rain.

And so I shrank into the clear,

erased each drop that might appear.

Until the flood buried me alone,

While he held on to the sky he'd known.

So I looked up, then down, then in.

My hair was soaked. I felt damp skin.

Was I too much? Too quick to name

a storm that didn’t want the blame?

At last I carved a boat from doubt,

with sails of truth I stitched throughout.

I launched it on the flood I knew,

and let the rain be real, and true.