Silk

Rain falls
My hair feels soft
Its layered tips brush my neck
It doesn't sting as in the previous days
Where the heat turns it into needles

Rain falls
My boy sings
I read
About mountains
and roads
and love
Uncommon
but love
just the same.

Rain falls
The book pages
are flecked with age
Storage for words
simple, unfrilled
blunt as with  my
Chinese heritage

Rain falls
My boy continues to sing
My hair feels soft
I continue to read
The rain has ceased
But the cold it leaves
is comforting
turning needles into
cloths of silk

Rain fell
I pick up the pen
And I write these.

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