Little Things: Serendipity

Serendipity

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

I was born on a rainy day in January.

My grandma says I was a winter rose.

That was almost my middle name.

I grew up on mud pies and country songs;

I became a hoarder of books.

And now, here I am...puddle jumping to conclusions.

I wish I could fly.

I wish I could feel the raindrops against my wings as I look down on skyscrapers.

When I find "the guy",

I do not want him to promise me rainbows.

I want him to promise me that when it rains, he will leave the umbrella at home;

he will ask me to dance in the street and twirl me around so that the light of the street lamp close by blurs into a sunny horizon.

I do not want the polished, the put together.

I want the refurbished, the broken made new.

I want the rainy Wednesday's spent sitting in the car, listening to the music the storm around us composes.

Just for us.

I want to count the raindrops that are trapped in his eyelashes and to kiss away his tears.

I need grey skies and melancholy lullabies.

I need sopping hair and goosebumpy arms.

Leave the umbrella behind.

Little Things