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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Rain


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Rain

 

Standing in the pouring rain

Hair hanging lank in soaked ringlets

Hands smeared with water

Moisture beading on my skin

Beating gently down on my shoulders

I turn my face up to the sky

And catch the sky’s tears with my eyes

It’s warm.

I feel like an ancient

Looking up at these stormy clouds

Moving so quickly across the sky

Being poured upon by this rain

That has evaporated and condensed

Into an endless cycle of travelling storms

From ages long past

Perhaps this water was drunk by a whale

Was used to water a Welshman’s fields

Drenched a samurai’s sword in ritual washing

Soaked the deck of a Saxon’s galley

Or perhaps it fell down upon the head

Of a hidden hunter in the Georgia mountains

Close to where I now stand

Before, when all was magnolia and oak

Fern and moss forest

Or perhaps it fell down upon the heads

Of my ancestors as they stepped for the first time

Onto Ellis Island

The long journey from Erin’s Isle and Scotland

Washed anew with the cleansing water

That now washes me.

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