“D” is for “Drought”

I need a big rain.
My limbs are quaking, crackling, thirsty and weak.
My roots are lifting, twisting, climbing for a drink.
Just a drop. Just to take the edge off.

Or they’re breaking-bending-begging for a downpour.
Just to wash this all away. Just to stand inside of it and sob.
Or scream. Or sink.

Or float?

To rise above. To doggy paddle. To tread.
To try.

To hear our wedding song on the radio and to break down,
to wrap myself in the failure like a mink.
A secondhand novelty, a cheap reminder, a souvenir of how hard we didn’t.

To hear our wedding song on the radio and to sit, stone faced and ready.

Ready to fight and to uproot and to crack the earth,
shed my skin, and sprout toward the moonlight. To recognize, to capture, a breath of air I have been missing.
I thirst for a chance to fight for myself and my seed.

I need a big rain. I need to dance in the destruction and -stop-
And dance again in the rebirth.
To taste a sweet release with the bitter new buds.
To turn toward tomorrow with every bit of marrow I can find between my bones.

To rethink my vows.
Blue whales? Bumblebees? The most impossible things.
If I could be anything?
I’d be the bones around my OWN heart.

Silent But Ready
like a watchdog.

I need a big rain.
An orchestra of droplets,
A symphony of suffering,
A cacophony of survival.