The Decision

It was autumn, and I sat at the kitchen table
making lists for yes and no
on the backs of envelopes.
                               Early evening
and already dark. The dog stretched out 
by my feet, and I lifted my head 
to stare out the window
where the interstate rushed and roared

				—a great river.
I rose and leaned my forehead against the glass.
Rain from the storm just past 
shook in the leaves as the wind 

				swept through them.
When I was a child I would go out
in the fields and lie in the waist-high grasses,
imagine I rode rain over the horizon.

When you called, I sighed
and said yes and yes and I know,   

			                  but my heart 
was already loading cartons, stacking them. 
It had been raining on and off all day—
wavering lines in the gray mist, then

				      hard and straight.


 

© Patricia Fargnoli