There's a nice folkloric quality to this poem.
Because the last stanza showcases this element
well, I think it ought to go first.

The original order is fine too, although
this way, I believe, intensifies the rain season--
it's quite a powerful line.

>One Mississippi Two Mississippi

>The rain season lasted the whole of our childhoods.
>We held our umbrellas, we slept behind hills,
>I sewed my brothers’ mouths shut
>and we waited for the arrival of floods, tall enough
>to wash us away.
>
>When we were kids, storm clouds
>formed beneath collared shirts,
>beyond buttons and breast pockets,
>cumulonimbus in our father’s chest.
>
>The mist rose after work
>with a misplaced shoe, a startled nap.
>Had we stomped on the stairs, slammed a door, forgot to say
>please,
>vapor scaled his legs.
>
>All that moisture rumbled all evening in his lungs
>till someone, unforgivably dumb,
>left the oven on or rolled their eyes.
>
>Now, we know the ways of lightning,
>how it can split you in half
>if you stand out in the open, alone.
>
>One Mississippi, two Mississippi
>we counted the miles
>between his voice and thunder claps.
>Wind beat against his chest.
>He chewed hail the size of golf balls,
>spat it to the floor.
>It ended with a silence that whirred in our ears.

_____________________

Cultivate a quiet joy
Put others before you
Watch well and listen closely

•Kenji Miyazawa