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  • Grace Cockerill

Untitled Poem about Rain

When the sky is grey and the ground is dark, marked with droplets at around half past three in the afternoon. Those are the days I feel it the most. The days I remember like they were yesterday.

I want to chuck myself onto the tarmac and roll around and dance and sing. I want it to coat my little body because it has almost gone - the part of me that does remember. I wish I was her, touching the lowest branches of the trees as I walk home from school in the rain. Book bag in hand, looking up at the total grey. Fingers damp and hair knots down to my knees. My tights sticking to the cuts on my knees, scrapped all the way down, with the blood turning dark.

The rain makes it all so vivid, so real,

But sometimes, especially when it turns to night, the memories aren’t grey. They are blue and they are black.


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