Day 19: Rain in the vicinity

Rain in the vicinity

I sit down on the couch 

and pull up the weather app on my phone.

The home screen pops up with my location, informing me there is

"rain in the vicinity."

I look out the window -- it's not raining here,

but it must already be raining

a few miles over.

It's not raining here.

My house is cool, quiet, and dry,

with my glass of clean, cold water next to me,

I close my eyes and picture the faces

of the little guy in my office today --

it has taken him 5 weeks

to learn to hand me a picture card

as a way of asking for a bite of spaghetti,

I look in Little Guy's eyes

and try to imagine what he understood

when he was beaten at school 

so badly his arm was broken;

I talk to his father, who has tears in his eyes,

because nobody cares

about a black boy beaten in a public school

and I know:

there is rain in the vicinity.

It's not raining here.

My house smells of zucchini, cooked on the stove

with garlic, and onions, and yellow squash,

but my heart aches as I picture

the young man with sores on his mouth and lips,

he tells me,

he knows his adoptive parents have enough food,

but his bio mom taught him to eat feces

whenever he is hungry,

and now he does it when he's worried

and the way it makes him remember her,

and my stomach aches

as I hear the grief he carries in his 9 year old belly -

it's not raining here,

oh but there's rain --

there is so much rain in the vicinity.

It's not raining here --

though it's cloudy, and humid, the sky hangs heavy and low.

It's not raining here --

though the sky is dark and sits like an oppressive weight on my chest.

It's not raining here --

though there is a menacing breeze telling of what my neighbors are feeling.

It's not raining here --

but my heart weighs heavy with the knowledge

of the rain 

in the vicinity.