Rain

Painting by James Abbott McNeill Whistler


Rain


Rain drips from the roof with the rhythm
of tr(i)bal drums
I‘ll never know what it is to’ve had
everything st(ol)en from me

d men stagger under the weight of their years.
Their greedy eyes weigh them d(own)
ership is the illusion that keeps us working
long h(our)s

needs are neighbors we’re afraid to meet;
our wants are
the brothers-in-law of the (sou)l
p heals all wounds; if Mamaw taught you
nothing else, it’s t(his)

nails have grown yellow, curving into claws.
His teeth blacken and c(rum)ble
sinks into the bellies of the faithful.
It will re-emerge
like rain


C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on Requited Journal