Portrait: Sun Rising Over the Park, in Summer Press

With your hand pressing against
the small of my back lightly,
I walk slowly, painfully through
the dripping rain.
It's not painful because of you,
your arm, shoulder, against me,
supports my crumbling wall, this flood,
of emotions, helping me keep it all
from tumbling down.
There's so much, threatening, frightening.
I'm lost,
with no way back to me.
You have no idea, no idea,
of why I'm walking quietly, feet dragging,
tears mixing with the almost sweet taste of raindrops
running down my face,
yet you pull me in closer,
hugging your arms around me,
as if to guard, protect me, from
...myself...?
You wipe away tears and now-ruined makeup,
leading me to a lone pair of swings
blending into the misty dark gray scenery.
We sway back and forth,
the gentle movement, and your hand in mine,
helps dry my tears and lays down the
first few squiggly, uncertain lines onto the
map leading me back.
Back to smiling silliness,
back to unrushed days,
and back to my sense
of purpose, of direction.
As my tears dry up, so does the rain,
and the swift movement of the clouds
reveals acres of thick creamy dark midnight black silk,
spotted with pearls, shining bright as stars.
I finally begin to talk, spill, vent,
after you jump from your swing and pull me
from mine to lay in the damp, prickly grass.
You listen silently, yet I know you listen
through your fingertips lightly caressing my arm
and the brush of your lips on my wet, curling hair.
I finish talking, and you raise yourself up,
supported by an elbow lodged in the cool earth,
and begin to speak.
Now it's my turn to listen,
and for the first time
the paint, the finish, is peeled back
and I can see who you really are,
the side you hide so deeply, deliberately,
underneath so much.
You understand me almost completely,
and that shocks me.
I feel you know me better,
more accurately, truly,
than any one of my friends,
who pride themselves on how
"well" they know and understand me.
I feel the cool breeze brush against my
bare arms and shiver involuntarily.
You curl up, closer, blocking out
the cold, the hurt, the pain,
and slowly I slip into sleep,
light as the breeze that chilled me so,
and we both rest, underneath the
gazing eye of the stars and the
invisible, yet inevitably present, moon.
I awake just as the sun slips above the
edge of the earth, the golden-pink rays
touching on my skin, your face,
the intricate, silvery chains of the swings
and we both stand, slowly, reverently,
your arm 'round my waist, hand resting on
my hip and amble back towards our
homes, lives, days,
leaving the fond, mysterious wisps of
memory to follow us closely,
throughout the months, seconds, ages
tying us to that night, and to each other,
with a knot of love and understanding.
The hope of the future guides me,
my map, back into
just exactly who I am.