When it Rains

Sarah Valeika

mother says she just can’t take it

anymore, like the rain was just that thoughtless hand which

overfilled her cup, and the hot tea came splattering down on her

innocent thigh as she sits

in her chair

at the kitchen table

close to tears.

she bites into a muffin,

picks the raisins out of it,

tells me she just can’t take it

anymore

and I wonder at the anymore

whether there ever was a time when she could take it

or whether this rain is the only thing she needed

for the courage to show us the burns marks

already along her body

and to tell us how much they hurt.

mother is hurting.

I don’t know what to do.