The birdsong quiets
tap tap tap turns to drumming
all of the sudden it’s pouring the rain

My memory’s eye sees my mother run outside
brown hair tamed in a bright red bandana
flipping clothespins like a champ

She calls back, “Mind the stove.”
My twelve-year-old eyes watch from the window
as she battles against the rain

Tonight I hear the rain
I turn off CNN
I smell the clothes