When it rains, you wonderwhether tears are right,retreating to a cornercovered by catalpa umbrella.Joy turns on a dime here,followed by steady rainso you wonder about tears,hope, an array of excuses,explanations for bruises,the bean-heart of your treewilted following flowering,pounding rain now drizzling,promising sun behind tears.And that’s the wonder of it,how it changes like seasons,calming after hurricanesbring all the branches down.You get on with your raking,piling debris in that corner,hoping for quick decomposition,wondering about the weather,planning for the next time it rains.
My offering for Björn Rudberg’s lovely prompt to the Real Toads: Swedish Poetry and Karin Boye