THE PEOPLE WALKING DOWN SEMINARY STREET IN THE RAIN

all remembered their umbrellas. I walk bare
…………………because I want to. I’m trying to remember

……………………………………with my body. Sky
……….looks more like sky framed

………………………….by an open window, but I
………………………………………………………need it on my skin.

…………………………………………………………………………Before we moved
………………………………………………………east I stood at the end

………………………………………….of our driveway in a fading
…………………………………………………..downpour and fell asleep in the yard.

……………………………………………………………………………………………I try not to think of the river

………………………………………………………with my body in it. How did it feel—cradled
………………………………………………in fallen gingko leaves, red sun

rising over the still houses—morning
………………………………………….after a storm. Help me body

…………………………………………………………………………this again. I want to remember
………………………………………………………how to be myself, dear

………………………………………………………Lost Tooth / dear Cut Hair / dear Wonder
………………………………………………………dear Rain / dear Still Puddle / dear
………………………………………………………Mirror / dear Empty Hands / dear Body—

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….I remember you
……………………………………………………………………………………………as better than you were.

………………………………………….I think of the river.

………………………………………………………An umbrella slows
…………beside me—loud Rainforest

Café print. Holding it, a man
……………….with wet eyes and big hands

………………………………………………………mentions heading inside. We softstep
….under the canopy, shoulders brushing

………..in vague green light. When I remember this later
……………….I will want it back.

………………………I towel off in his living room. A slow song
carries from next door, muffled words

………………………………………………………don’t last through the plaster. Blue
………………………………………………………………………..moodlight from a saltwater aquarium

……………………………………………..glares off close black walls, no windows
….but a painting of a window looking out on stormy

………………………Jupiter, a spread of moons in space—
…………………………………….Look, that one there, that’s Ganymede.

……………………………………………………The man plucks a golden butterfly
………………..-fish from behind my ear and releases it, splash

……………………………………………..of sun in the tank crowded with gray
………………………………………………………………………………..angels that school to one side,

…………………………………………………………..clustered behind plastic colonnades. I reopen
….his umbrella in the center of the room, twirling, scattering

………………………………………………………droplets and seven-year curses
……………………………………………………………………on the floor and furniture, rainy

…………jewels catching the light, and he takes it
from my hands and he fills them

………………………………..again. This body I became
…………………………………………………….has swallowed me whole, water

……………………………………………………………….down a parched throat. I cannot speak
…………………………………about myself without the water. The river.

…….I wish every poem ended
………………………………………………………………..with sky.

Kyle Marbut is going through a lot right now, but they want you to know the trees are beautiful here. You can find more of their poems in Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Up the Staircase Quarterly, and Homology Lit. They ramble about poems and cats on Twitter @KyleMarbut.