This rainy state

I have to remember how the rain falls in Washington.

I often suppress the memory of gray, however lonesome.

And that's silly because it comes down from October to April without fail.

The winter goes on and on with a punishing silence.

And I have found March to be a liar.

But when spring comes in it's beautiful mercurial blush,

the seven months of gray fade from memory.

I often say, "Don't you just love the Pacific Northwest?"

As if I pride myself in surviving another year.

Never minding the toll taking or the

months of dormancy without a single kiss of light.

My thin skin hungry for just a touch of warmth.

The imprint of my body on the mattress

and the empty prescription bottles by my bed.

I commit myself to remembering the breadth of the storm in this place 

and consider  if the spring is proportionate to the winter I survive.