“On the verge”

Tonight it rained,
and while she didn’t look a day older,
my sister turned a calendar year over,
welcoming a new number
to the sum symbol of her years,
and she still acted the same,
strong and confident and concerned and striving,
happy and thoughtful and mostly content.
The cats yawned when I came home,
tired from their day of slumber.
The TV went on,
I made a sandwich,
the Cubs steamrolled the Cardinals
and became the division champs
and I almost cried,
and I almost cried-
at Bryant and Rizzo,
at the team hugging midfield,
at the weight off of their shoulders-
the division champs, the division champs-
at the weight off of their shoulders,
at least for a few more days.
The rain remained,
pitter pattering on the roof
and window panes,
cold creeping about the house,
after night fell
and the Cubs clinched the NLC title,
and the sandwich was converting
in my stomach.
The clock ticked loudly above my table.
Behind my house ran a river.
Beyond my street the dead were sleeping,
under the pitter patter of rain,
cold creeping about their crypts.
I almost cried
at Bryant and Rizzo
and the team hugging
in the middle of Busch Stadium,
the cats yawned,
my sister and my parents ate cake,
cars splashed driving by on nearby Paseo,
I looked for the right words,
looked at the clock,
tapped at the keyboard,
and the skies were streaked with rain.