Like Rain on Warm Pavement

I’m afraid

that I will never be the man my mother

always said I could be,

said I would be. I wish I’d told her

that her son was born with an intense desire

to be anything other than ordinary

coursing through his veins. They were small, but held

passion for things she’d never understand.

I am strong like her, but I failed to try-

also like her.

Her little boy was gone before she knew it,

like rain on warm pavement-

disappearing through the cracks

before her very eyes. I remember how they glowed;

jade and amber swirled around

the darkest pupil. She said my father loved her most

for them, but what did he know about the woman

who raised the sun he’d never


I wish I’d told her that I was born

to be the fire in the sky

reminding her that she did something right.


One thought on “Like Rain on Warm Pavement

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