I was born in the rain
on a steel grey California day.
The skies were dark,
as was my mother's heart
that cold wet day.
The sun never came out between us.
Sad to say,
it wasn't just the rain
that underscored
the darkness
and the chill
in this stone cold woman.
She had recently buried
her first born son,
and a mere girl
did not have
adequate replacement value.
Two years ago this week
you died, mom.
So why do I still feel
a sense of rejection?
A sense of somehow
being less
than I am?
And even though
I love the rain,
it always makes me sad.