Last Remainder
Eleventh in a series of rain poems. Just a few more and we're at the end. Promise.
The skittering and scattering of water pearls popping against my eardrums like the legs of a spider weaving a tomb for its next meal remind me of air-grace steps from my friends gliding on concrete as we played ‘it’ and ‘tag’—their faces smoke choked and dilapidated by failing memory, but my expression I know was one of glee impossible to exasperate, even when I could tell the last game would be the final one as they were star shot away in moving vans, one by one. The storm decorating their empty apartment windows the last and only companion to always remember to visit me.
I really liked that onomatopoeic opening line. Nice work!
The sadness is soaking your poem but I love every word of it.