By: Alex LeGrys

The Rain

I think you’re
related to the
rain, or at least
its best friend,
or maybe
even the missing
half of it--
because God
knows everything’s
so damn incomplete

you see, the
rain splatters
on sidewalks
and patters on windows,
metal surfaces,
similar to your voice--
gently resounding
and sometimes it’s a little
cold, but neither of you
can help that,
it’s just the
way things are.

you tease like
the rain, it seems
you might come--
the clouds crowd
together excitedly
and there’s that
small rush of hope,
but it’s just another
false alarm

then the rain can clean
things a little, freshen them--
soiled hands or tear-stained
faces are washed up
a bit--
you do that too

and when
you both part
one feels chilly,
somewhat tired,
and all in a soft sort
of way--
the two
of you leave that
same worn-out aftertaste
as if it’s all settled,
and though
the remnant raindrops
quickly evaporate,
for those twenty minutes
it’s still all right.

the duo is so
even when storming--
neither will look
all bad, at
least not to me

and of course the
pair of you
fit grandly with
flowers and old
industrial towns--
abandoned factories
and old pastel doors
become even better, as such
dilapidation has a
charm like no other.

I would gladly
have you both
even if
some say
it’s more trouble
than it’s worth

neither of you should
ever be taken for
it’s best if a fragment is
measured in a
rain gage to acknowledge
what was there
for otherwise
it’ll merely
be a washed-up blur

but, what’s different
is you’ll never flood,
never grow in excess,
at least I don’t think
you’d ever cause
such destruction...

so perhaps you’re
the rain’s younger sibling--
not in the inferior
sense, you have just
as many forms,
yet more tender,
equally complex,
and obviously
open to misinterpretation
by anyone--
and I’m no

this makes you two
frightening, as I can’t
help but fear that
some brisk storm--
large or small,
will someday
be on my account.



Alex LeGrys is a 16-year-old from Vermont.