Life Rains

It wasn't the stale water with its incessant drip
pouring over the indoor herbs in vain.
No. The rain was laughing down the apple tree,
only seconds from the kitchen window,
the hand I held against it-
to stand.
It was a mocking echo, the sardonic
slap of familiarity.
Yes, my job, you fool.
Yes, my life.
I didn't dare open my mouth to hear
that this too shall pass.
Isn't it always about me?
Isn't it?

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