The rain is crushing the ground.

The rain was crushing the ground today. Like it wanted to tear the concrete apart. I love the way the lamplights were playing in the parking lot, the way the puddles kept rippling and flowing, the cars kept circling, the roof leaking.

I sit and watch the homeless couple eating dinner, radio propped up between them on the table, playing a garbled tune I cannot identify. The ground in front of them fills with plastic wrappers. This couple has been here for as long as I've worked in this place.

They sleep behind the parking lot.
The owners of this space let them.
They've been together a long time I think.

The concrete of the parking lot is so black and wet, it reminds me of the ocean when I went there one night and watched the boats move in the empty expanse of inky blue, their bobbing lanterns the only things visible, looking like they were held up by invisible hangers.

Like perhaps there's a ceiling we can't see.
A ceiling full of hanging chains for us to hang lights and ourselves from.

I talked to my friend today. On my way to work, in the rain. And the pounding of the wipers and the huge splattered drops couldn't drown out the sound of him. I can't think of a way to make his life beautiful again. And it hurt to care about someone who has almost given up. When I'm all the way out here, and I can't do anything, say anything, fix anything. All I have to offer is a phone and a ear.

The sky is awfully black for 7:25 PM. Car lights and streetlights and people. Tail-lights burning a glowing red. People ducking in and out of the rain, hiding their heads and trying not to fall down. Don't we all fall now and then?

The night is just too lovely in its shadows and heat. And our hands are too entwined to worry about things anymore.

The raindrops are falling from the electrical light. It's amusing and dangerous, all at once. But really I'm just sitting here, watching the rain.

As it crushes the ground.
And erases the footprints from before.

~RS
April, 2006
Used With Permission