Waiting on the Rain

I sat across from him

a decrepit old man breathing

into lungs of sawdust and glass.

I slowly slide over some tea

his hand shakes as he reaches for it ,

How did you do it? – I asked

“Well it may get dark

and there may be pain

but air tastes sweetest

right before the rain”

His face had these lines

these deep trenches. Like each

memory, was dragged across his face.

But the sea of lines

parted when he smiled.

“don’t you dare give in

these times won’t stay

my boy this sky,

will shortly rain”

His papery hand reached out

to grab my hand.

He squeezed with all his might.

I stood from my chair,

I kissed his forehead,

then got up to leave.

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