” Think of the nicest thing someone ever said to you. Write a poem about a rainy day and something flooding. End the poem with the good thing someone said.”
The sky is dirty dishwasher gray.
The clouds are pregnant with rain.
The things I lost make up my memory
on rainy days such as these.
The sky is the color of slate.
The clouds are bursting with rain-water.
You were my salvation the moment
you strolled into my life.
The sky is silver-white.
The clouds have broken open
The rain taps at the windows,
strikes the ground.
The lightning splits the sky in two.
I lost so much
(my sanity, my friends, my family, love),
but you linger and promise me,
“I won’t go anywhere. I love you.
I ask, “But what if I forget us?”
(Alzheimer’s runs thick in our blood
like mud in my veins, like thunder in the sky.)
“I’ll hang pictures of us in the hallway
and remind you every day of who we are.”