Helena Mesa
OUR BODIES STOOD LIKE HOUSES
Dear friend, we wanted it—
the rain—before too much,
before sweeping steps,
porches, the water flooding
the street and yard, cars
overturned like bowls.
We were close
then. Loveless and
calloused, you said, enough
to hold back loss.
Old friend, my hands ache,
the grip too tight.
It would be better
to let the water in.