It’s raining outside.
That cold, winter’s rain that seeps into
every fiber of your body. You long to
stand out in the wetness and
into the gutter.
down into the sewer.
You carry paper boats, and leaves, and
tiny, jeweled pebbles with you
And you’re cold,
You have no toes, no arms,
When you should laugh,
you cry bitter, hot tears of—
You have actually melted into the
Universe—you’ve gone from
Substance to Time.
From Time to
You feel nothing; yet everything.
You are not.
And when the rain stops, what then?
You begin to lose the numbness—
up into a brittle essence of fire. You
with the pressure of other bodies—needs.
for the next
Copyright 1976 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
I posted this poem on my FaceBook Notes, but thought I'd also include it in my blog.