JIMENA WASHES AN APPLE IN THE RAIN
The door flung open for excessive heat
between the yellow oilskin and wet boots
and the drowsy cat upon the windowsill
frames well the slouching barn across, and she
who stands within it in blue overalls
waiting for the shower to pass—remembering
the apple in the pocket of her chest
and holding it beyond the eave to rinse.
My sight empties torrential into her as hers
into the dripping apple as the rain—
as the rain grew infinite between us.
Vincent Tice is a poet from northern California. He has been living out of a backpack for several years and working on farms. He has been recently published in PANK, and Rattle Press.