Rain Smell

Standard

Overcast skies,

mourning doves crooning,

cars gliding slowly

across soaked asphalt.

Wisps of steam

rise from your teacup,

raindrops streak

down the half-open windows

of the screened-in porch —

pooling on the sills and

trickling from the gutters.

The world grinds to a halt,

just for this moment.

Breezes blow in

through the insect screens,

rustling branches

and carrying

wafts of petrichor

that connect you

to the world you swore

you’ve escaped from.

A few more minutes

out here

couldn’t hurt.

Corrosion

Standard

Hello old limestone sculpture,

Of an ancient, armored,

Sword-toting,

Roman soldier-

Meet acid rain.

Your chiseled face,

Buffed away,

Until the once completed visage,

Looks like modeling clay.

Slowly, but surely, we return to square one,

That marvelous, marble base,

Laid bare,

Then swiss-cheesed,

By sizzle drizzle.

Behold the disappearing monument,

Matter cannot be created,

Nor destroyed,

But that’s neither here nor there,

Until we put real effort toward conservation,

Of the curated.

Muddled Puddles

Standard

Depressions,

Tend to accrue,

Collections,

And internalize them,

Creating literal,

Littoral gray areas.

Still still,

In the sunlight-

It’s dappled surface,

Slightly evaporated.

It has no mind,

To receive,

What it holds,

But it still becomes,

A pastiche.

Upon inspection,

The surface of the murk,

Projects lurid reflections,

Where not enshrouded,

By leaves,

Or speckled,

By pebbles. 

Small Things

Standard


The periwinkle patina on a past-it’s-prime pretty penny that smells of pungent pecuniary petrichor,

The swing-set that squeaks and squeals due to shear-force in the sanguine summer schoolyard,

The oscillating fan that is ostensibly an orbiting oasis in the warm weather,

The trills and triads the trickle plays when traipsing through its trapeze act to tap on a rock face.

These are minutiae, minute moments made of monuments to each momentous minute.