We stand in the rain
on the last day I will see him
for months and months.
His eyes are fixed on me,
and a tear seeps down his cheek.
He reaches out a calloused hand
and takes mine.
Kids skip past us
up and down the stairs.
They slide down the ramp beside the stairs.
The adults stand inside, behind the glass church doors,
talking, singing, laughing…
But I cry, and my tears spill down my cheeks
and no one can see them,
except for him
standing across from me
in the early September rain.
The flowers are still blooming
amongst the rock décor
beside the concrete stairs.
But I cry,
And the tears roll down my cheeks.
His hair is light blonde and drenched
as it is, I can see his scalp.
His red polo is now maroon,
his jeans are dark already and I cannot tell
that they are soaked.
His wet hand is gripping mine,
“Don’t forget me.”
The single tall oak tree beside the church
sways in the wind.
Its dead brown leaves
break off the branches and twist away
with the gusts of wind.
“Don’t forget me.”
The parking lot has accumulated
puddles of water, a sheen
that reflects the thick grey clouds overhead.
He is staring at me, so I say
“I won’t.”
But somehow both of us know…
We know.
Maybe it’s the wind,
maybe the clouds.
And I cry, and my tears are hidden
by the early September rain.