Pollen Count

Danielle Marie Cahill

This poem first appeared in The Quarter(ly).

My computer tells me the weather

There is a high pollen count today

As if that matters deeply to someone

Imprisoned in a glass tower

At night, my daughter asks if I saw the rain

She mimics the pattering noise with her

Fingers over the mound of the duvet

I pretend I did.

The she reminds me how in February

We stuck out our tongues to feel snowflakes

Falling–so gentle and so cold

We both catch imaginary wisps for a while

I tell her that I love the rain

Tomorrow, I must go outside to feel the drops

On my face–not learn about it far too late

In the left-hand corner of my shining screen

More from Danielle Cahill ↓

• @daniellecahillwriter on Instagram
• This poem is published in The Quarter(ly)

You can hear me read Soft Plastic by Danielle over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure