Rain Language

When he says he loves hot weather

I wish for a rainy day.

A downpour

to collect the coolness

and store it in my skin.

So when the sun sizzles,

cooks me during another hot July summer,

I can pull it out in cup fulls

pour over my skin in a slow motion montage.

Chase away the heat

like a bad cartoon villain

instead of playing the damsel

cinched down on the train track

of record breaking heat wave

and when I cry out

I don’t like heat,

to be cooked daily.

He tries to soothe me

in a lullaby of you will adjust

and I watch his mouth

as it keeps chanting slowly

and I realize I never learned his language

of sun and overheating.

And he can’t hear me,

he can’t understand my language

of rainstorms and puddles.

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