hot summer rain,
steam streams off side walks and the
hard concrete of a 12 by 14 front porch.
broken drain becomes Niagara falls, though
we have never seen it. pictures from
mama’s Britannica are all we need to
know this is what it must look like.
“Monsoon,” he screams and we laugh so loud
grandpa wakes up shouting, “OUTSIDE!”
never mind the rain is pouring like a
faucet. his command is a
challenge. adventurers we are, we
promise him diamonds and pan sorted gold.
rioting granma’s cabinets, we separate
colanders from their hooks and transform into
49ers in our makeshift swimsuits and rain boots.
“You are not to set one toe off that porch,”
she calls out after us. we can
barely hear her over our plans to kill the
loch ness monster once we have braved the
bering straight and eaten coconuts in our hawaiian leis.
at work with pots and buckets in hand we are
hard pressed to save our sinking ship and return
the princess to her home. it is arduous work
this adventuring and our boots are soon over
full with warm rain. Laughing, we pull at our waders and
rain showers on the watchful eye of our nanny. nikki,
a 75 pound german shepherd, refuses to come
out from under the awning. she grumbles and
we are soon laughing so loud our neighbor calls
from behind her window, “Enough.”
nikki drenched and angry is undeterred in
her duties. we never notice we have yet
to step one toe off the porch in
our hearts we have traveled the world.