This poem first appeared in The Quarter(ly).
My computer tells me the weather
There is a high pollen count today
As if that matters deeply to someone
Imprisoned in a glass tower
At night, my daughter asks if I saw the rain
She mimics the pattering noise with her
Fingers over the mound of the duvet
I pretend I did.
The she reminds me how in February
We stuck out our tongues to feel snowflakes
Falling–so gentle and so cold
We both catch imaginary wisps for a while
I tell her that I love the rain
Tomorrow, I must go outside to feel the drops
On my face–not learn about it far too late
In the left-hand corner of my shining screen
More from Danielle Cahill ↓
You can hear me read Soft Plastic by Danielle over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure
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