The lingering raindrops on the window make me think about the cistern, and how I ran off to see Lenore Dove instead of going home to fill it. I don’t regret that precious final rendezvous with my love, but I wish I could’ve left Sid and Ma with a full tank, not just the few gallons the rain barrel might provide. Not that I think Ma will be able to do laundry this week. Or, I don’t know, maybe she will. She didn’t miss a beat when Pa died. Just made a giant pot of bean and ham hock soup, the way we do in the Seam when someone dies, and got back to work.
