Monday, April 18, 2011

“Winter’s Rain”



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
                        melt
into the gutter.
            Swirling,
                        ebbing,
                                    flowing
                                                down into the sewer.
            You carry paper boats, and leaves, and
            tiny, jeweled pebbles with you
                        And you’re cold,
                        You’re numb
You have no toes, no arms,
                                                no soul.
                        When you should laugh,
you cry bitter, hot tears of—
                                                oneness.
You have actually melted into the
            Universe—you’ve gone from
Substance to Time.
            From Time to
                                    Space.
You feel nothing; yet everything.
                                                You are,
and again,
                                                You are not.
And when the rain stops, what then?
You begin to lose the numbness—
                                                            the oneness.
You
            dry
up into a brittle essence of fire. You
                                                            burn
                                                with the pressure of other bodies—needs.
And—
            you
                        wait
                                    for the next
                                                winter’s rain.

Copyright 1976 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

I posted this poem on my FaceBook Notes, but thought I'd also include it in my blog.

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