There are those that live in the rain and those that live with it. She wanted to live in it, but I found that she is the latter. I watched her close as she sat by the window. Her reflection looking back at nothing as she stares out thinking of everything. She says she thinks of moving to San Francisco, how her clothes are out of date, why her cat hasn't come home yet, where it is. She says she thinks about how the sun beams down and how we ignore that it's really a self-igniting bomb billions of years overdue, that the universe is never on our side, and that the crystallized rocks and clashing colors are a mask for its darkness.
She thinks of puppies and kittens newly born and blind, of Pitbulls and Rottweilers and how friendly and amazing they are, why the oceans are such mysteries to us but our own cosmic address is not. She tells me that she misses my long hair but androgyny really suites me, that she distrusts those that are too upfront about themselves, and that she likes bubble baths overlooking the beach at sunrise. She says she thinks of budding flowers and how they bloom once the rain stops. She says she can't wait to see it.
She has told me she thinks of closing chapters and opening new ones but fears breaking the spine and folding the pages of a new book. She has told me her fears and worries about the cosmos, the world, our city, our front yard. But she also told me she thinks that the rain is a sign that powers beyond us weep because they see that we can change. She says she chooses to enjoy the thought that the rain casts gray clouds overhead and how it always brings flowers afterwards ... because she lives in a world after rain, rather than living in it.
She was sewn from a stream of significant disasters, but she has taken charge of the tide. Directing the course of the storm, she became one with the fiercest gyre. The lightning, the moment through the raging sea, the season of her storm is done. The smell of the after-rain, the calmness of the shores mended the remnants. A rainbow of colors and vibrance, the abundance of black clouds is gone. The beautiful sky, a magical release from these painful bonds. Courage and kindness, gratitude and strength, the real treasures are now found.
A storm rages on Trees thrash and break Windows and ears split from the roar of thunder Colossal building shake and bend Rain floods the road Seeps in basements and cars and the earth Waves throw their full weight at the beach Birds and Foxes have long since burrowed Sensing the coming storm
Yet at the same time Not far away A gentle breeze hushly moves the tall grasses in fields Tickles the leaves of blooming trees Weaves its way through the towns and over the waters The people roam the beaches and streets with smiles on their faces and the sun on their skin
Everywhere has its own storm in its own time
And everyone has their own battle at their own time
I shut down, restart, Try to rid myself of an unwelcome guest What is this awakening... thing in me It terrifies me It rises, a dragon, a phoenix It roars and weeps and hisses It trembles and whispers and cowers It bubbles and tickles and shines It stings and aches and burns It coils, constricts It is claustrophobic and freeing It is drowning in air It is contradictions A storm in my chest Does everyone have this–– This storm in your chest?
–––An Android Awakening: a Memoir in Verse
'An Android Awakening: a Memoir in Verse' isn't a real book, just one of my fabrications :)
Written for day 2 of @angelealowes January writing prompts: storm in your chest
The storm is over - no, not last week’s nor’easter - midterms. I hope you survived.
New England seems to be one, big, storm-of-the-month club. Campus is 5 minutes from Long Island Sound and I like to go watch the mesmerizing roil of the ocean when a storm’s rolling in.
The choppy hazel undulations, opaque as enamel, seem to coil-up - then suddenly slap the shoreline breakers as if testing their resolve. The wind whipped salt-water patterns, like folds of linen. The wind and salt water mist in your face feels as sharp and violent as glass shards.
The sun occasionally pierces the clouds like a knife strike only to be healed in moments. The whole scene is beautiful, immense and uncontrollable - like eating cake by the ocean. (song reference).
Where i lived, in Georgia was nowhere near the beach