Rain, New Year's Eve by Maggie Smith

Rain, New Year's Eve

      

The rain is a broken piano,

playing the same note over and over.

 

My five-year-old said that.

Already she knows loving the world

 

means loving the wobbles

you can't shim, the creaks you can't

 

oil silent—the jerry-rigged parts,

MacGyvered with twine and chewing gum.

 

Let me love the cold rain's plinking.

Let me love the world the way I love

 

my young son, not only when

he cups my face in his sticky hands,

 

but when, roughhousing,

he accidentally splits my lip.

 

Let me love the world like a mother.

Let me be tender when it lets me down.

 

Let me listen to the rain's one note

and hear a beginner's song.