Pluja

We should be at a football game watching the Pioners play against the Firebats. Instead, we are indoors watching the pluja and the calamarsa and I feel inspired to write a poem as I did years ago when I was a younger noia in California.

Pluja and Calamarsa

Thunder, the sky blinks,

rain spills like beans on the ground. 

We are quiet. 

Que silenci. 

We remain still for fear the soroll will stop. 

I hear Octavio Paz,

"Óyeme como quien oye llover,

ni atenta ni distraída"

But I am attentive to the moment,

and watch the pluja and calamarsa,

clash and battle.