Poetry by Sasha Patterson

When you ask a 3 year old for a writing prompt and they answer with “rain”


You say rain,

even though this is the first day it’s really felt like Spring,

even though the sun is streaming through windows,

and you refused to wear a jacket this morning

opting for a t-shirt and black gloves instead,

even though you tried to ride an orange sled  through the muddy grass

like it was January 4th

You say rain,

like it is the most obvious response.

I ask you what you feel when it rains.

You look puzzled.

We can’t always answer the questions we throw out

so I try to think about how I feel,

remember the cold drops streaming down my cheeks,

hear the first crack of thunder that wakes me from sleep,

the bike seat soaked through and the brakes not working

You see I want to say that it makes me feel melancholy,

but I don’t think that’s quite right.

You ask, what is melancholy?  

But without waiting for an answer

you start talking  about the watermelon seeds that we planted together,

that you water every day,watermelons sasha

patiently waiting for the tiny sprout that will likely never emerge,

your little spray bottle, like the rain, a spritzing of hope.                             

We agree upon watermeloncholy.