she took deep breath of him through her eyes
he snaked through her brain down her neck straight to her heart
there he stopped to drink from that sacred bowl,
then coiled and wiggled his way to her ***.
she felt a surge as her organs shook
her breath came in bursts.
her mind snapped from her inhibition like a flag
in a stiff wind.
she knew his scent without going near him
it was fern-laced and green, and she wanted
to put her nose to him and inhale to the bottom of her lungs.
she felt his ****** mistral blow through her, warming her limbs
he was water-wind-breath, po-wa-ha.
she felt her old skin peel away in the force of his mistral,
in the clean wash of his waterlight,
and the caress of his breathing on the air around them.
she stepped out of her old pelt to reveal
the woman she had always been.


c. 1995/2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater

those Pinteresque voices enjoy dictation
enjoy giving orders full of menace
like to see me writing their words
into books placed neatly on shelves in a bookcase
as though their sentences full of
what-ifs and that-suckses and you're-guiltys
are precious gems of wisdom
composed by Verdi's drunken librettist
for an opera maleficent, full of sound and fury

I made a secret door of the bookcase

laughing, I swung away the words
and entered the world where no menace inspires


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater

the look of words - in any language - across a page
brings to mind the gestures of dances
slow, or wildly free
a waltz, perhaps, or
an arabesque
a twyla tharp choreography or
a martha graham ballet
an earthy folk dance
a Japanese kabuki,
a Chinese dragon or lion dance

some lines of words also look like music
some, like wind instruments
others are a slow walk to anywhere
(which is a dance, too)
the flow of words takes us with it
expresses through music and gesture
so much more than their definitions
are sacred sounds expressed through
movement across a page,
across an invisible divide between you and me,
over a mountain range on elephants,
to conquer a heart

and satisfy a soul


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater

once a bell has pealed,
can it be unpealed?

once liberty is cracked,
can it be uncracked?

once one is loved,
can one be unloved?

once something breaks,
can it be unbroken?

once a light has been lit,
it can be unlit
then re-lit.

once a crack opens,
once a break occurs,
once love falls,
the Light gets in.


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater

fireworks sparkle
the darkened sky of my memory,
sparkling through my soul in a pleasant wave,
uncovering a walk in the jungle of my heartland

and a guava tree.

I’m in my kitchen, filling my nose
with the delicate scent of ripening guavas from Mexico,
palmed in the chalice of my hands,
feeling my way to that jungle walk with my family when I was three
or maybe two, in Hawai’i

and the guava tree.

as I bite through the fragile skin of the yellow globe,
the seeds, like BBs, take me further into my remembrance,
my family around me sharing
the excitement and joy I felt when I saw and climbed

the guava tree.

after we moved back to the Mainland
to a desert paradise I also loved,
each Spring I came down with what I called my Island Virus:
a deep yearning and homesickness
for my heartland

and the guava tree.


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater

I have been too long in the world.

I am frayed at my edges
chipped
cracked and broken in places

I have been too long in the world.

Have listened too long to the
THOU SHALT NOTs
the
I WANT IT ALL MY WAYs
the
IT'S MY RIGHTs
and I have let them dry the lake of my soul
with their drains and siphons

I have been too long in the world.

I shall use the golden joinery
of the Japanese art
to honor my frayed edges
weave a golden, or silver, or platinum
thread through them
fill my cracks and broken places with lacquered metals

I have been too long in the world.

other edges, smashed to smithereens,
will be left as they lay
jutted, stiff
while the softened, smashed powder from them
I'll keep in a medicine bag
and mix it, as needed, with my blood
stirred into a salve, a queen of healing

I have been too long in the world.

my thousand-times-broken heart
repaired and repaired and repaired
and re-paired
I will wrap like the gift it is
with the gold of Love
while laughter falls from it
salve regina


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater

beautiful luxury,
crumpled mid-bed
is an insanity of love

an asylum for dreamed life

into this I crawled,
unmade
arranged
not yet awakened

I dreamt of kisses from princes
incandescent with madness
now faded

my bed greets
a lament for the dead

Madness wakes its own



C. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater