A RED DROP OF RAIN

A RED DROP OF RAIN

A red drop of rain

every once and awhile

among billions of silver tears

and I can tell someone

who knows how to love

by the way they cry

not water or lace or diamonds

but blood. Or,

as the old Sufi says,

it’s just another lover’s tale.

And there’s nothing

but lipstick on the mirror

where your lips used to be

and it’s colder than kissing a ghost.

And I remember how, now

that’s it’s of no consequence to confess,

you always wanted to be the lifeboat

so I always had to be the S.O.S.

that made you feel needed.

You never liked me

when I was strong

so I broke it all down

to be loved,

and mastered your heart

by perfecting the art

of being unworthy of it.

PATRICK WHITE