Pitter-Patter It’s not torrential or even steady, this moderate rain, more from the eaves than the clouds. I’ve long closed the blinds; I hear it, not see it. Like the tentative steps of would-be visitors killed in car crashes. It hasn’t stopped in months. One morning, I get the idea it’s all in my head, stepping out and shooting to the sky, melting and startled. Beyond the blue, ground lies, full of upside-down buildings. I splash, shatter, and rise as many people— one of them perhaps me— back and forth between.
Mark Henderson is an associate professor of English at Tuskegee University. He earned his Ph.D. at Auburn University with concentrations in American literature and psychoanalytic theory. He has poems published or forthcoming in Cozy Cat Press, From Whispers to Roars, Defenestrationism.net, Bombfire, Former People, Neologism, Broad River Review, Rune Bear, Flora Fiction, and Flare. He was born and raised in Monroe, Louisiana, and currently resides in Auburn, Alabama.
[image: Moody Raindrops In Dark Blue Puddle | LasPo rocks]