Arthur Kayzakian: Rain

 After he hugs his family goodbye

         he passes umbrellas and park benches,

 

sees the edge of a vexed flower petal and thinks, 

         the flower is a man off to war.

 

Without looking back,

         he can hear his children kicking 

laughter in and out of him.

        His wife’s throat, a gleam of sandlight.

 

Fifteen years later,

        rain beats out a puddle in the shape of his body.

Published in Prairie Schooner Volume 94 | Spring 2020