Inside the Rain
”...me, I expected it to happen...”
Today I lie
in a pause
in the blindfolded machinery of the everyday
on the yoga mat
a blanket from the dead
a small spiked planet under my head
seventy-seven years
in the body
and the record turns.
”...caught without a ticket...”
So many passengers
inside the grooves
Breezewood, Pennsylvania
March 1977
a roadside coincidence
called Judy
two trajectories crossing
between Baltimore
and Pittsburgh
while somewhere far away
the singer was already writing
the weather of our lives
”...you just happened to be there, that's all...”
But she stayed
Seven years
lawfully married
for ten dollars
in a Dallas basement
rifle distance
from the echo of a president’s death
Her arm around my chest
her nightgown against my back
sleep
without witnesses
”...and I say, oh, c’mon now...”
Across the Atlantic
the madman travels
inside enormous 747s
between Texas
and Södermanland
while the mind stretches
between continents
almost breaking
Still
she follows
”...if you want to see the sunrise, honey, I know where...”
But the map was flawed.
Misfortunes
find their way
And I let them
kill us
again and again
in rooms filled with ghosts
Maryland soil
2009
No stone from me
”...nobody knows any pain
tonite as I stand inside the rain...”
The record turns
Rain fills the room
And the man
who gave the years their soundtracks
stands now
inside his own weather
Eighty-five in May
”...with your eyes like smoke, and your prayers like rhymes...”
Here on the yoga mat
March 6, 2026
I receive them all
The dead
the almost living
the forgiven
the unforgiven
Love returns
with its wounded light
laying bare the body
to time
The record
keeps spinning
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
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Written on 2026-03-06 at 18:40
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Melinda K Zarate |
