It’s raining and you’ve opened all the windows
the thick Fichus leaves gather up
the wind and staccato rain
even the sanitation truck
its shrill beep sounds watered
every sound feels intentional
Earlier this spring you installed new guttering
on the house, we watched the sweet tricklings
slope down the driveway to the street
from the metal mouth of it
every sound comes from its shape
Sound depends on shape
a watering can
tinny at first, deepens
as it fills
Just like us, the way we were made
the way we were placed in the world
heaved, unfurled, or crashing down
by whose gloved hand
are we placed in a warm pocket
or left there on the shore
hatchlings crawling back to sea
we open to the rain
And you, Mother—
you were like a pebble skipping across the surface of a lake
and later, when your step became heavier
when the reservoir filled and your stories ran long
your voice bellowed from an impossible deep
