by Tracy Porch

The last time it rained, I was nearly eight years old. The day I saw water drops cause the paint to chip at the frame of my window. That day was all heat, I could barely take it. By evening we were relieved to smell the thickness of a storm lurking. Waiting at that big window. A girl on a tall glass ship. Darkened wood revealed itself as the white paint fell away. It was the first time that I had outgrown the vessel. It was flooding. I was forever grateful for the rain, the soils would soften by sunrise.

Tracy Porch has had work printed in Quiet Lightning as well as Elements literary magazine. She resides in Antioch, Illinois and has earned a BFA in English Literature. She is currently working on producing a series of novellas.