A woman weeping out my window

Out my half-open window,

I could smell the rain that poured

like a bucket onto the street.

And like a woman's fine hair,

it weaved back and forth

on the road, blustered by

the wind.

Like a woman's fury,

thunder shook my walls.

Tail light reflections on the road

sizzled as though her outbursts

would smoulder and fume.

I listened to her anger,

her indignation,

her riled mood,

and her irritability

until she finally calmed down

and fell asleep.  

Author's Note

Personification.

Reviews

[KAREN]

I like the way you describe this woman using rain and the storm. Nicely crafted! I love the title!

[Relic]

Thank you, Karen. :)

[KAREN]

My Pleasure!

[John the Baptist]

Reminds me of the old practice of looking for familiar shapes in the clouds. Sooner or later, something will turn up. Of course, if the rain of the poem is symbolic of a real person, we have a whole different ballgame.

[Relic]

No real people I know of. Thanks, John. :)

[William Michael Reeves]

I want to think she is silence. Lonely silence. Raining silence. Reflected silence pooling on the streets of life. Pensitive poem poet!

[Relic]

Thank you, Bill. :)