On rainy days, thoughts
travel through the drops.
The rain tapping on the sill
are telegraphs as you smoke
and wash dishes, smelling
the verdigris of wet streets.
You hear him in the living room,
his voice the rhythm of rain,
talking of books and coffee.
As you come in, drying your hands
from chores from another life,
you see the spotless coffee table,
books neat on their shelves,
the couch empty.
The windows here are closed,
the rain a record hissing
on the last groove
of a secret song.
M.C. St. John is a writer living in Chicago. His works have been published in After Hours Press, Chicago Literati, Ink in Thirds, Literary Orphans, Maudlin House, Quail Bell Magazine, Word Branch, Unbroken Journal, and Vignette Review. His first short story collection Other Music was recently published, and he is currently working on his second.
–Art by Magdalena Roeseler
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