I Spent The Summer Trapped Inside Of A Raindrop

The first two weeks,
the sleeve of his yellow
raincoat, waiting to be
taken off the hook.

Eventually, migration
to his hair, wash me out
down the drain.

The next three weeks
the sewer pipes, 
cold

but I was raised right. 
In Buffalo, we don’t stop
because of grime-friend-rats.

You know, I never
realized how good I was
at holding my breath. I make this
revelation for the twelfth time
as if I’m thinking it aloud. 
I do so while sitting

on my bed across from
him and he doesn’t get it,
says there’s nothing to get.

I hear it rains a lot
in West Virginia. Maybe
I’ll end up there.

Hannah Nathanson is 19 years old and based in New York State. Her poetry has been published in journals, such as Philosophical Idiot, Peach Mag, Curate Journal, and My Next Heart: New Buffalo Poetry. For more information visit hannahnathanson.wixsite.com/poetry or check her out on instagram @h.annahrose.