Kingdoms in the Rain

You know, it's strange to get to the age where you have nostalgia. Where you sit down and start thinking about the past. Before this point, I didn't have enough life to have a past. There was only the happening now. But here, in this now, the kids are out racing me. They don't know my cultural references and look at me strange when I tell them stories of 'how it used to be'. They look at me like I'm old. Like I know something they don't. When the fuck did that happen?

So yes, I have been thinking of the past...

Did we break her? You and I? Did we break her? We both were in love with her. Strange little bird that she was. Did we break her? Or was she already broken when we got there? She never let me forget what we did. Made me suffer for it for years. Jabbed me with little pointed phrases when I was least expecting them just to see me wince. Wept in my arms because of you as I smoothed down her hair and cooed in her ear. I lost her years ago and I don't think I can go back.

You know, I followed that black dog into the wood, my boots digging into the softened dirt up the steep hill. I followed his tail. Pointing his snout back at me to make sure I was following. His tongue hanging out and a smile on his black lips. A happy yip and he would dive back into the brush. All four paws in the creek, trying to catch silver trout with his long teeth. Once we reached the pond, a gleeful barking and splashing would send the startled ducks to air. In deep golden fields we ran, an hour hike from home all by ourselves. Me, 12 years old and off in the forest on my own. Me and that black dog chasing cattle down the road, running through the birch groves, eating lunch by that glittering stream... we always knew the way home.They never told me how he died. His tail still disappearing before me.

In the winter, I walked my grandmother's long country driveway to wait for the big yellow school bus that came lumbering down the road. Wrapped in layers, hopping from foot to foot trying to stay warm. My breath would hang in the air, ice crystals forming on my eyelashes. The world had gone white, buried in clean snow. Like a blanket had been pulled over the world. Everything quiet, gentle. Little tracks of field mice in the snow. Deer trails up through the trees. My foot prints following me down the path. Everything still, frozen until the roaring engine of the bus broke the distance promising warmth, a hard seat and shrill taunting laughs all the way to school.

I remember my first winter spent in the rain. No white snow but everything glistened with a dark wetness as the street lights bounced off the pavement. The wetness seeping in around the edges of my shoes leaving me with soggy socks. A rainy winter was foreign to me. No snow to shovel. No fire wood to chop. I obviously needed better shoes and a crash course in umbrella etiquette. The rain came down in sheets and beat against my window all night long. The world held it's breath and splashed me standing at the curb. We all shook the droplets from our hair as we boarded the bus. Everything stayed so green and the leaves never fell.

...
Tell me your story.
I want to know your past.
I might write it down as you should never trust a poet but know I treasure every syllable as we build a kingdom in the rain with words lost in the night.