Wednesday, 17 April 2013

NaPoWriMo Day 17 Poem 13 Crushed Rain

I remember the crush 
of rain in Ken Wood, how hard
it came as we kissed under an oak tree.

Afterwards, my arms
curled coyly around your waist, 
as we ran through the field onto wet streets
where everything sparkled silver
                                in the rain.

I don’t know that by summer,
you will be pregnant
with another mans child,
but I know my friend James 
will grow needles in his gut
because he told me for years 
he loved you.

But I held you 
honest as I could.

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