Rings of water stained your bookcase,
our keys overlapped on the kitchen counter.
The video game paused and stuck in place,
our hearts break while we stall the rain.

The picnic basket waited, patient.
The blanket grew cold, with irony.
You promised me – nothing of concern.
But the clouds turned grey, and I waited for your words.

The door hesitated to let me in;
it knew the storm was approaching.
Our plans postponed, the fight grew strong –
you tried so hard to hold it off.

But the rain came, eventually.
A downpour of accusations and grudges.
Things we had let go, in our grasp once more.
A barrage that battered and broke us.

Not long ago the rain was joy.
You’d pull me in closer when the storm raged on.
This time the weather caught us by surprise.
I still think of you when clouds fill the sky.

 

Izzy Gacusan
Izzy Gacusan is an Asian-Australian writer based in Canberra. Born in the Philippines, his work has previously been featured in Veronica Literary Magazine. In 2016, he was highly commended for the Marjorie Graber-McInnis Short Story Award. Beyond writing, he is completing his studies in English Literature and Criminology.

About Author

Izzy Gacusan is an Asian-Australian writer based in Canberra. Born in the Philippines, his work has previously been featured in Veronica Literary Magazine. In 2016, he was highly commended for the Marjorie Graber-McInnis Short Story Award. Beyond writing, he is completing his studies in English Literature and Criminology.

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