Weather of the soul

Fotografia de Jemima Radke

It’s raining, it’s pouring,

And your heart is sad,

But you’re not about to say it.

Enough rain to make the river overflow,

The nuns at the hospital

To take their mad in a rowboat.

If it eases a little, send the boy next door

For beer. Let him bring cigars too,

Under your big black umbrella.

His mother’s beautiful when she smiles,

But she rarely does,

Even when she breast-feeds the baby.

You can’t say “wild desire,”

And it’s silly to say “I’ve been spooked

By the way she thinks with her eyes,”

Thinks and thinks…

And the rain makes a sound on the roof

Of bare feet and petticoats.

Charles Simic