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.