Jul 25
Rain, New Year's Eve
by Maggie Smith
The rain is a broken piano, playing the same note over and over.
My five-year-old said that. Already she knows loving the world
means loving the wobbles you can’t shim, the creaks you can’t
oil silent — the jerry-rigged parts, MacGyvered with twine and chewing gum.
Let me love the cold rain’s plinking. Let me love the world the way I love
my young son, not only when he cups my face in his sticky hands,
but when, roughhousing, he accidentally splits my lip.
Let me love the world like a mother. Let me be tender when it lets me down.
Let me listen to the rain’s one note and hear a beginner’s song.
