Asphalt River


By Cathy Cook
 

Finally,
it’s raining.
The sky let loose.
Soaked creosote
reaches my borrowed
second floor room.
Sola, light brown
Pitbull who’s scared
of me and rain,
but loves me too
sits at the foot
of the bed and we watch
asphalt flood, a river
in the parking lot
through borrowed blinds
I kept closed
until this moment
because I brought
two strangers home,
one Sunday, one Monday
and didn’t want anyone
to see our bodies pulling
the mattress off the bed.
Gray sky, black road,
thunder rumble like
the sound of Sola
growling, butt wagging
cause she wants to play,
this is answer
to the prayer I sent up
yesterday.
 
 
 
 
Cathy Cook writes poems, articles, creative nonfiction, grocery lists, and fiction. Her work has been published in The Daily Lobo, Conceptions Southwest, and 3Elements Literary Review. Her poetry is inspired by the body of the land and by the landscape of her body. Find more of her writings on her blog.