Amanda Grant

Roadrain

I’m in the street when a few drops hit my skin.
Are they my saltwater tears
or the freshly purified rain?
How much will fall tonight,
and how long will my body echo the same storm?

The music in my ears swells,
the rain answers, growing heavier.
The road darkens, slick and empty.
My legs give out.
I sink into the roadrain,
let the cold asphalt claim my spine,
let water gather in the hollows of my body.

It rushes over me in small rivers,
soft with their own gravity.
I listen to the steady drumming of the roadrain,
to the low hum of my desolate songs,
two sorrows blending into one familiar sound.

I’m lying in the road, certain there are no cars
yet never caring enough to be fully sure,
certainty feels irrelevant now.
All that matters is this strange rebirth,
this moment where everything falls
and I fall with it,
finding a quiet, unexpected life
in the roadrain.