Raindrops

I sit in cabs, drinking in

The raindrops that slide

On the windowpanes—

Unable to touch, the cold

Blocked by glass.

.

The last time I went home

Winds sang and branches shook

And I quivered and laughed

Water dripping from every pore.

.

My mother shouts at me,

‘Get in! What will the neighbours think?’

Too soon, my body is warm.

.

A week later, away from home

My phone beeps.

It’s a photo of a woman in the rain.

My mother—that wicked woman—

Thoughtless about neigbours now,

Her smile mocking my warmth.

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