Poetry and Writes

Washed Away Weak (POEM)

the rain fell -- hard --
on a gray day, mid-January.

yes, the rain fell -- hard --
and I fell with it

onto dull dark pavement
among the rivers of the water.

on my skin formed a purple question,
a yellow inquiry -- and on my neck

lines joined to carve a slat
of reddened gills. it hurt so

deeply, all over my body it hurt.
I laid on the rainwashed road,

as my will leached slowly from
me, as my breath and my worth

slipped from my newfound gills.
and -- in crept the water, the

insidious tide, and I didn't want
to flee. my gills widened

like hopeful arms, and into the
shafts ran the rivers.

the clouds shuddered by,
their words bleeding -- hard --

and pounding through the
current, and ever into me.

I laid there -- and I can't
recall whether my face sang

happiness or a heavy reluctance.
I laid there -- and the rain

kept falling, and I didn't move
until the storm and my weakness

had swept the old me out,
filtered in a new one,

recycling past matter down
the street drains -- so I

was gone, I knew that even
then, as the clouds ticked

my changing all around,
and yet I still did nothing.