My last day began with rain, a drumming beat on the dirt,
showering songs to announce descent to earth.
Rain taunting my feet, I am on the sidewalk,
sheltered by a makeshift roof and lying trees.
The cars beyond me toss tears
off themselves, wheels swerve and then steady.
Then a bell chimes, crisp and bird-like, first slow and steady secrets,
then a playful tune to celebrate the rain’s arrival.
The rain, the bells-
one does not cancel the other out, but rather coincide with the other.
A perfect harmony that the human heart will but watch.
Sweet, sweet cinnamon in a soy satin river,
frothy and smooth- it warms my lips before finding solace
in my esophagus. The rain is cold, the coffee is hot,
my breath belongs to the rain.
I am an alien, unwelcome to the rain’s domain?
The rain is a vein to the plants, to the trees
but it is cold to me-
I hide from it but splash in it, pretend it falls just for me,
I ignore the cries of the tree and hope the rain won’t ignore me.
I cannot stop the rain, but the rain will always stop me.
I sit here and write these words and hear those bells and taste the cinnamon dew
and I am
My insatiable human lips will never feel the peace of grass drinking its morning brew,
but I do find myself here, feeling all the shades of blue the sky has ever been,
and I ask the rain?
but I wonder
does it want me to look or to look away?
Does the rain want me to notice
or to let it be?
Does it think me a monster, does it think an alien of me?
the rain wants not, asks not, begs not,
and in that, I could never be the rain.
Now I am inside, hidden,
like a child in the womb, momentarily blind
and deaf to pain.
The trickle of raindrops is now a
heavy, consistent, foreboding heat of voices-human voices that sound like mine and that don’t sound like mine,
all invading the stream the rain gave birth to.
In here, I cannot breathe, I cannot think-
I am being coerced into suffocation, coerced into emotions but devoid of them?
The rain is the eye and the shelter is the mouth,
always talking but never seeing.
a fire that desperately wants to touch the rain-
we are put out by our own choice.
But the pleasure of the drowning human voice!
The longing moans of our anguish, the desperation in our cries!
Every single word and every single wall we build to keep the rain out
is saying please break in, love me like I scream to the rain,
love me like I’m scared to.
But the rock never cries to the rain
and in that, I can never be the rock-
like veins bursting out from the skin I am human and always will be,
I wish the rain was desperate like me and I wish the rain would beg for me.