The Way My Mother Explained the Rain

Oh, I dunno. Heaven's way of washing a filthy planet?
she'd say on days the laundry pile disgusted her.

So farmers can grow more veggies for us to waste!
she'd sing, pointing her fork at my steamed spinach.

And the month my older brother ran away: Well . . .
I guess sometimes even God needs a good cry.

She's gone. But I've taken up explaining things her way.

            For example:

In 1907, a physician determined a soul weighs 21.3 grams
by remeasuring the mass of recently deceased bodies.

And the average raindrop weighs 0.034 grams.

Therefore, one soul needs more than 626 raindrops
to carry it. Should it wish to travel in the form of rain.

             Or:

An umbrella is a flimsy shield used to protect your soul
from the invasion of bodiless souls disguised as rain.

            And:

I don't own an umbrella because I look better wet.
And in case my mother's been trying to reach me.

 

 

--Michael Montlack