Rain

She sat at the window in the straight back chair
and stared out. Just that image remains.
She wore her gray sweater and plaid skirt, her hands lost
in the deep pleats. I saw her face from the side and the rain just beyond
as it poured down the window pane.
"What are you looking at?" I asked.
"Oh, nothing." she answered.
I knew somehow, young as I was,
not to ask more questions, knew there was a truer
answer than "nothing", although
I couldn't know what it might be. She seemed so
far away, her stillness absolute, the rain constant.
At levels below words the rain drummed answers.


This was posted in response to a prompt about weather from Stu McPherson at dVerse Poets.