The clouds 
came early 
keeping dark 
the city 
now wet
it weeps 
the kind
of sorrow 
only mothers 
ever know 
and endure 
people scurry
about nary
aware of 
the pain 
like fathers 
often do 
choosing to 

I hear 
it now 
pitter patter
against window 
reminding me 
that sound 
I heard 
from my
own chest
when I 
first spied
upon you 
I listened 
didn’t speak 
but knew 

It’s funny 
being me
mostly nothing 
and then
a raindrop 
falling from 
heaven above 
and into 
a puddle 
being nothing 
more again 

I have
a drawer
upstairs in
my mind
where I
file things 
that I’ll
never understand 
and that
hopefully will 
collect dust 
collapse disappear 
like the 
bones of 
those who 
did them 
to me 
to dust 

If one scratches 
on the veneer
of either oneself 
or even another 
what you’ll see
hidden desperately beneath 
is honesty the
scared truth that’s 
been teased chided
and mocked long
what we call 
toughness and resiliency 
are really just 
scabs after a 
lifetime of picking 
of same wounds 
never to heal