Before the Late February Rains


Sydney says understanding life is a little like

Pulling a bucket of water out of a river and saying you understand the river,

And I wonder if I can take refuge in that. Two days ago

I got a ride in a Lyft and someone on the radio said

There’s an atmospheric river on the way, and I thought they were joking.

Turns out that’s a thing. That night I pouted at dinner and played the woe routine.

No reason I can think save some antennae in my head bent.

I don’t want to be unsummonable.

I don't want to have to oblige

My cauliflower heart to shed its coat of armor. That night

I thought I wanted a silo, to take comfort in

The anonymity of a field. Tonight, with the rain coming down on my skylight,

I’m sure I want a green house, where I can keep by the body’s hours.

Coil inward. Grow hot. And when the door opens and you come in,

There’s this sound of the kid a few houses down laying into a piano,

Of chickadees hopping in the rain, of stray cats with heartworm mewling in the street.