Rain by Raymond Carver
The year is ending. Some things are destroyed: a city, plans, relationships. Yet some things are also being rebuilt: this house. My life.
Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.
Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.
Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgiveable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.
i like what you wrote more than the poem. no offend to Raymond Carver though.
This poem’s last stanza just made me suck in a deep and shaky breath. The things poetry does. Thank you, and thank you for your hope.
val dering rojas
Raymond Carver is my absolute number one favorite writer EVER. And if nobody gets that, then it’s their loss. You get it.
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