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.
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.