Bare feet

slap against the wooden floor.

Pitter patter, pitter patter.

My mind envisions rain.

The thumps

are muffled in darkness,

as they fade past my room

in a litany of echoes,

imitation of taps on concrete.

Heading north, toward

the whiteness of light hanging

off the wall, they run

from the shadows which jump

out of creviced floorboards

like worms thrusting

their heads out of the mounds

of humid dirt outside, beneath

a quater-after-midnight sky.

The light---it illuminates

corners of the bathroom with

the glow of a moon.

Pitter patter, pitter patter.

Rain that escapes the clouds,

crying for relief as it falls.

Enfolded between sheets,

my mind escapes creativity

with distraction at movement

on the ceiling, a blinding

black. Something above

shifting and sliding, a motion-

less fluctuation rippling

in pools of paint. I fall

into a relieved awakeness, away

from the blacker stirrings

in my dreams, as my eyes

strain into the swirling colors

they see in darkness.

From the room next door,

I hear a wet cough. My sister's

footsteps have stopped on

the burning cold linoleum

beneath the nightlight. A soft

creak and a slight moan

of the mattress as my father's

body shifts, and I know he is

trying to fall back asleep, away

from the chill

which stains his blankets on

a warm spring night.
 

But I know it will take a while

before he will hear the clangs

of the six-thirty alarm. I know

my eyes will keep straining.

I know the footsteps will not return

for a very long time, and I know

that I hear rain now,

an inchoate trickle

from the cupped hands of

overhead clouds; it is fleeing

from the brewing shouts of night

thunder, drenching rooftops

until they glisten, joyfully

pounding on our window panes,

a very rapid (am I crying?)

pitter patter, pitter patter

to evaporate out of

the sea sparkling on a

breathlessly clear sunny

day.