We waited

We waited for rain as if it
were some rare cobra venom
lanced through fangs and rubber into
a fragile mason jar for safekeeping
too precious for flowers or sunlight –

drops so rare the trees had forgotten to drink
while others drowned in distant
countries where letters look like
houses built with sticks

I remember you now
when your neighborhood exploded &
The news vans lined the block with their satellite dishes
asking the sky for attendance

-That one book left midway open
on the street next to the melted car
it was March then, just before rain
began to cost us money
and when it came falling in the form of sleet
and dog’s breath watering grass

I remember the way you played harmonica
before whiskey became impeached at breakfast
Before saliva became kosher and religion was a tv station
next to the cooking channel we always watched together.
“Nigella bites” or something like that with her so British accent
and your grin painting the walls as you cupped the harmonica
and waited for the next song to come.

I remember you steering the truck with your knees as
you rolled another joint, pot plants sprouting through the floor
mat.

I remember how you couldn’t sit still for anything but sleep itself
and death later and how in between the joker man found redemption
waiting in a curtain as you steam ironed it into perfection.
This pencil you had, stuck in that ear that never stopped growing
and the poem scribbled on your dashboard
as it too waited for the rain to begin.

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