The Rain is Why I Live in Seattle

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In every wall, I see a father-shaped absence—

A Wile E. Coyote impact crater

Of paternal loss. Can I really be

A 55-year old son lonely

For the father who died when he was

Only 62? Yes, I can! And now, at my age,

More and more of my father figures—all

Those half-broken wise men who half-

Replaced my broken father—

Are terminally ill or they’re already dead.

That’s how it works. If our lives go as planned

Then we’ll bury every father.

And we love them as they love us.

And we love them as they love us

And Jesus, it’s raining in Seattle again

And today I believe

That every other rain drop

Is a damp tombstone

And that every other rain drop

Is a small father

Trying to nourish the world.

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