the rain

it smells like rain
is on the way she says from
the porch swing.
she points to the sky.
and I agree.
I remember watching the storms
come in
across
the long stretch of street
and field.
the smell of it
before lightning.
before the first drop fell.
waiting
on the concrete steps.
staring up into the open
roll of clouds,
blue as blue can be
going black.
and then it comes. it comes
hard and swift.
but we don't want to get
up, or leave.
we want to stay put
in memory and make a new
one now.