Listen, the rain is coming
hurry, close the windows,
or the casements will swell.
The heady smell of electricity
mixes with the first drops of rain —
as thunder cracks,
A light switches on in the front room
that only gets sun in the morning.
and this, this is late afternoon
in the stifling heat of August –
warmer still with the windows closed
against the now intense rain.
The trees in shadow are the deep
green that comes just before the twist
of autumn, when the leaves curl away from the sun.
I watch the fat raindrops bouncing off
the slate terrace, rattling the windows,
and a sudden cold pervades.
back into a dream
where the walls still stand
and the hydrangeas along the drive
explode in color, and Nonno
loves you silently, entirely
And all the while,
You thought your were alone
Because he never said a word.
My grandfather Nunzio Thomas Castovinci, (1905-1995) and my grandmother, Jean Snyder Castrovinci (1906-1980) made all the difference in my llife. I am grateful for both of them. All I am, all that is good in me, I owe to them. The photo is of the house my grandfather built in NJ. We really did run around the house closing the windows when the rain came, for the same reason cited in the poem.