another day

when the rain falls according to its own rules and the wipers can’t wipe fast enough
and there are many ways to see grey in the corners of the countryside we drive through,
every face half-hidden by umbrella

we make tea, we wait it out
we tuck ourselves in with habit and skill
we think of other days like this to keep us company

my daughter signs for rain by flicking her fingers – pitter patter – through the air
she falls asleep on the way home in the deepest part of the afternoon

she doesn’t feel how bare the world is or how
in the rain our grief becomes transparent

those things we cannot leave behind catch in the light like splintered glass
and we wait it out until the rain stops and the day is dry and unremarkable again


About Kendal

I'm Kendal Mosley-Chalk. I live in York with my husband and two children.
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