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Rain
Momma always said
you can smell the
rain before it even hits
pavement before
the sirens blare with full
wiper clearing off
a torrent of tears
Momma wasn’t there the
day you gasped for
a breath that almost never
came, when your sister
said you looked like momma
right before she never came
home, right before she hollered help
me to our son five hundred miles
away, but frankly to me, you never
looked more beautiful than
when I touched your hand and let them
take you and when they flipped
on the flashing lights, I knew home
was just as far as our son was
the day Momma died, the day our yard
was a river and you were the bridge
Kevin LeMaster lives in South Shore, Kentucky. His poems have been found at SheilaNaGig online, The Slipstream, Triggerfish Critical Review, Route 7 Review, West Trade Review, The Big Window Review, Santa Clara Review Dead Skunk Magazine and others. He has work forthcoming in Internet Void, Main Street Rag and Coffin Bell Journal. His work in Rubicon: Words and Art inspired by Oscar Wilde’s De Profundis was nominated for a Pushcart prize.