Monsoons are here, Manila; on time, drenching
us, flooding back streets. Other places may wait
for rain, of which there is no harvest without,
but here we wait for it to stop before venturing
out into the alleyways. I was here this time last
year, too, waiting on a mystery of another type,
waiting like a season on one of your daughters
to the south. I waited for her until the windows
fogged, leaving me a bystander. You see I am
well fed, sheltered, healthy, and the thick rains
are swelling our precious rice, yet I don't know
where to harvest now or what she has grown;
I'm the sinewy husk only covering my belief,
left not to peel and protect, but chew on, choke.
VARIATIONS ON RAIN by Timothy Dodd | Sandalwood Vanilla Poetry Reed Diffuser
$20.00Price
