The Smell of Rain

Sitting in a lawn chair can be lonely if you

don’t open your ears to the conversation that

the blades of grass are having with each other.

And I always laugh on rainy days because

the grass would squeal beneath my sneakers.

Nothing excites me like the start of a storm,

where dampness floods the sky but my skin

stays dry.

I used to be on the tennis team. My mother

made me do a sport even though I wasn’t

fond of the whole running thing. And I loath

competition, so I didn’t bother getting better.

I spent most of those practices gossiping

with friends and thinking about the weather.

During last period, when the smell of rain

filled the room, I couldn’t help but smile

because you can’t play tennis on wet courts.

Days like this, I would rush down the street

to the Chinese restaurant for a bowl of

vegetable soup and a spring roll.