We were unruly: twirling umbrellas as rain drops stuck to our glasses

while lighting fell around us in bright curtains of death.

My heels scraped the sidewalk and you dropped your umbrella

to scavenge below the grates for some bit of life--a shiny penny, a banana peel, a spider.

You found dirt and two worms, but nothing to remind us of that life

when our clothes didn’t stick to our bodies like sea-soaked sand

and your umbrella wasn’t a swimming pool of rainwater.

There, death was ubiquitous. It was in the rain as it hit the street, turning the color of charcoal

and running underground. It was in our pink-and-orange paneled umbrellas

that seemed to darken each minute they twirled under the dense cloud cover.

But, mostly, it was in you as you searched for something to cling onto

as we were trapped between those bright curtains of death.