Drinking Rain

I held my cup out of the window to catch the rain 

And I caught everything but. 

I brought it back in and held it close to me 

To see what had fallen into it instead.

My heart ached a little upon discovering the contents

But, no stranger to surprises like these, I drank anyways.

Old friends, fond memories, a photograph or two — 

I downed them all, their excess running down my chin

And landing on my shirt.

(I knew I’d have to scrub the stains out later.)

The first sensation on my tongue was sweet and fleeting

But the aftertaste was choking nostalgia 

And I coughed to clear my throat.

It sent a pang of sadness coursing through me 

To think that the angels should send down transparent drops

That disguise their contents so deceitfully

Leading me to drink what I would rather not.