Rain was friendly when I was a kid.
A low rumble from the west
stopped our games.
We headed home
to help take clothes off the line,
close windows,
make sure the cat was in.
First, splattering drops polka dotting
the hot sidewalk,
then a steady cool.
We ran around the yard in circles
with our arms out, like planes.
When it stopped,
we sat on the back steps to dry,
waiting for a rainbow.
 
 
This poem first appeared in Goose River Anthology (2014).
and in Essence (2015).
Used here with permission.