"The Raincoat," by Ada Limón

When the doctor suggested surgery
and a brace for all my youngest years,
my parents scrambled to take me
to massage therapy, deep tissue work,
osteopathy, and soon my crooked spine
unspooled a bit, I could breathe again,
and move more in a body unclouded
by pain. My mom would tell me to sing
songs to her the whole forty-five minute
drive to Middle Two Rock Road and forty-
five minutes back from physical therapy.
She’d say, even my voice sounded unfettered
by my spine afterward. So I sang and sang,
because I thought she liked it. I never
asked her what she gave up to drive me,
or how her day was before this chore. Today,
at her age, I was driving myself home from yet
another spine appointment, singing along
to some maudlin but solid song on the radio,
and I saw a mom take her raincoat off
and give it to her young daughter when
a storm took over the afternoon. My god,
I thought, my whole life I’ve been under her
raincoat thinking it was somehow a marvel
that I never got wet.

+ Ada Limón

Ada Limón is a Mexican-American poet, born in California and now residing in Kentucky. In 2015, her book, “Bright Dead Things,” was a finalist for the National Book Award for Poetry, and in 2018, her book, “The Carrying,” won the National Book Critics Circle Award (Poetry).

“The Raincoat” is one of her most renowned poems, an invitation to reflect on the people in our lives who have helped us in ways we may not have noticed — and at the same time, read through the eyes of faith, a portrait of the loving parenthood of God.