Published on: 11/22/2014
Summer Rain

This morning's rain
punishes the hurricane shutters
pierces the window screens,
pulses against the panes of glass.

My hand slides across a book cover
that entices me to read,
it feels like material rather than paper,
but my mind is elsewhere,
and I remember on days like this
trying to read at the beach,
in between gusts of rainfall and wind thrashings.

I'd finally give up as the precipitation
turned to a pelting rain,
and then I'd huddle beneath the lifeguard stand
and watch my brother run through exercises
with a crew in a long rowboat,
fiercely beaten back through waves and storm.
While others rowed, he held grappling hooks
in one hand and a round, white life saver in another.
How did he balance so Christ-like in that rocking craft?

On what I knew was a count of three
after a screeching whistle blew,
he'd toss the white lifesaver ring
in an almost sideward discus throw;
then he'd throw out the hooks underhanded.
He'd kneel down, pretend to catch, pull and yank,
then toss again, pretending once more to snatch,
wrench and heave some drowning, drowned soulless
body toward the safe harbor of the boat.
Slowly, he'd reel in the lifesaver, then the heavy hooks.
I wish I could do the same now&emdash;
toss a line and catch him, drag him ashore with me
or at least into my floundering, foundering boat.