wildfires

on tuesday, it rains.
it is good news to hear among the updates your mom relays on the phone.
the relief in her voice is a welcome guest who has hung up his coat and will stay for dinner.

she tells you:
1. did you know that the neighbour's daughter got into art school? she's graduating in the spring.
2. it finally rained, you know, and we've all stopped coughing. your brother has resumed marathon training and your dad has stopped rubbing his eyes.
3. the grocery store has finally switched to summer hours.

it rains, and the chalk fades.
the neighbour's daughter, who just got into art school, redraws the hopscotch course for her little brother.
someone sends you a picture.
each number is a different animal--the three is a dragon. the seven is a stork.

it rains, and the wildfires go out.

a place you once loved has stopped burning.
a boy you once loved has stopped calling.
a game you once played has washed away.

on tuesday, timezones and oceans away,
you wake up to clear skies.