The Tragedy: To Rain, From Blossom


I told you I needed you, and you seemed to understand. But the forecast said you’d be here yesterday, and I haven’t seen any dark on the horizon. I’m not sure where you are or what you’re doing, but I want you to know that I’m watching to sky for you. Every humid night, I breathe deep and hope that you’re at the end of the breeze, sailing the skies to fix everything. From way up there, maybe you can’t see that I’m parched. My petals are browning and the soil around my roots is blowing away. I want to keep spreading, creeping, growing, but I can’t keep living without thinking about you maybe on the way. I heard tell of floods in Beaverton last week. Was that you, then? Hasn’t anyone told you you’ve overstayed your welcome? Hasn’t anyone told you that I need you here now? I’m shrinking into nothing. Please send word.



I tasted you again last night. Just for a second. A freshest flash and, God, it filled me full. In that moment, I felt perfect again. Beautiful again. I had watched you flanking the horizon for hours, drifting in nonchalant meandering that made me feel sick. Just as I couldn’t watch any more, I closed my eyes and you kissed my cheek with gentlest reinvigoration. My roots and petal folds trembled with colorful animation, and the feeling put all hope in me that you really do care. You care about nothing at all but me and my leaves that have waited so long for you to restore their playful flexibility. But then you left. And even when I reached as deep as I could into the rocky earth, I couldn’t find traces of you anywhere. You evaporated away from me and I fear that I dispelled you. I had to feel, once again, the crispening of a parched life. It is not enough to caress me for this night and blow through. It only leaves me a memory of sweet satisfaction, the weight of which bends my stem.


And back to thirsty biding. My eyes to the east, I see the ravenous heat coming that tears me apart. I remember how you dappled that light. How you carried its gleam. How you painted color in magnificent joyousness, just for me. And now, dry, I am losing reality. Give it back to me, would you?



Leftover drip down won’t you

Fresh and down down won’t you

Underdone the won’t you drip

So stop to be disinterested and

Maybe near me gently won’t you

Pour once more before winter.



One drop.

Fragile, I will break

Under weight of your heavensphere.

And gone the pain.

One drop.




End it.


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