Asia’s Rain

The wind ripped down my roof tonight.
It yelled and screamed until
the windows exploded
and I cried.

I cried like I was shaken by the wind,
like god withdrew;
the devil killed my sons.
And though I am not Job, I am not
left alone to tell you
anything except . . .

I am not going to make it.
The bricks falling through the chimney hole
make that clear in the clouds of ash
they raise.
I am
not going
to make it.

The only sanctuary now
is to walk into the open
darkness,
far from splintered roofs
and falling bricks.

If I am chaff,
I bid you all
goodbye.

I want to hear the songs you hear
As if the music was the same
I want to feel each time you fear
As if the fear had called my name

I want to be inside your eyes
To see the darkness when they close
And when your breath is only sighs
To be the warmth that comes and goes

Patron saint of peaceful passion,
graceful colors of gifted flight,
take her prayers of bliss and fashion
wings to journey through dreams tonight.

Cannons of clouds fire rain straight down
from their boiling black muzzles
each day in December
from exactly 3:30 to 4:30 p.m.
to explode the cheap tin roofs
in the townships, detached from the cities
and the servant’s shacks, detached from the white houses,
but there is no apartheid of heat and noise.
It’s like a bomb blast that lasts
for the long summer hour,
contained by flimsy construction,
absorbed by the oil-dark bodies
sitting and waiting within.
When the noise stops, the people emerge
into the breathable air
and feel the cool, moist earth
beneath bare feet.

It’s winter and I can no longer uncouple the roots from the soil,
so I work at untangling the branches from the sky.
My fingers become numb as dusk silently closes the bar
with no “Last Call.”  Drunk mermaids have emerged
from Prufrock’s final stanzas to giggle, each to each.

Adept at retrieving their sotted souls
from the basin of their ignorance,
I single out a blonde
and whisper something bluer than her eyes
as she holds onto my arm like
a lost saint.

Carlos takes the polished leather shoe
from his left foot
dangling over the bridge
and watches past his foot
as it strikes the water
with a slap.
Before it disappears below
the rich, black surface
he has already forgotten it
and removes the right one,
spins it from his palm
into the air
above his rich, black curls
and wonders where Julia is now.

Slap.

He pulls the belt from his waist,
the belt she gave him
as a gift
and simply lets it slide
from out his fingers
free now to unbutton
his tailored shirt,
one hundred dollars in the making.
Not a second thought
to the gold-plated links
left dangling from his cuffs
which pull the fabric
downward to the river.

Now he stands
to empty out his pockets:
a wallet filled
with one full month’s salary
an identification card
a picture of Julia’s daughter–
he throws it at the water.

Coins are dropped without wishes
Keys to his office
his home, his car
The jangling metal tokens
of his status
his security, his freedom
Such symbolic waste
they slide into the mud below

Carlos stands half-naked
at a crucial point in his life
He turns and calls her name
above the roaring of the falls
But she belongs to another
and all he can do
is weep.

Quickly, as the fastest tear
Dissipates in windswept fear
Frantically I disappear
Within forgetful water

Hardened now, in winter’s ice
Memories do not suffice
Foolish once, I’ve lost you twice
Beneath the frozen water

No one hears my breathing cease
As the floods of time increase
Flowing slow, devoid of peace
In rising muddied water

To the lights above the tide
To the clouds where gods reside
To the fountain of my pride
Laugh at phantom water

Mouth and tongue and lips are dry
As they breathe their last goodbye
Arid as a desert’s sigh
Robbed of healing water

Wilted flower masquerade
Fetal children still betrayed
Rain for which the faithless prayed
Lose the name of water

Standing in the rough-hewn door frame
Sweating slightly from her daily chores
My anti-Puritan awaits me

Today I steal behind the house and quietly
Creep up behind her, pull her in
One arm around her waist
One hand upon her mouth
To stop her squeal

Did anybody see her leg
As she kicked the door closed?

She spins so fast
The scarlet letter on her breast
Abrades my arm

My leg already between her knees
She bends and parts her lips
Darker than that letter
Sweeter than the smell
Of honey in the fall

“The devil be damned,”
She whispers,
“I want it all!”