hush
i need you to be quiet now
because i can almost hear the rain
exactly how it should be
not muffled through shingle and drywall
but that sharp fresh patter on a tin roof
the sound of home

my mother loves to tell the story of how
i was once a little girl terrified of storms
how she dragged me outside and forced me
to stand there still in the belly of a beast
a thunder storm in the savannah summer

it begins with that low baritone grumble
the rough grating sound of the world as she bucks
against all we wish her to be
this is her telling us she will only be what she is
no beauty without disfiguration
no love without the sharp sweet bite of loosing it all
no comfort without the deep gaping wound of desperation

she swallowed me whole
taught me that my size and fear
were as inconsequential and perfect
as that first drop of rain on the red brown earth
if you watch closely you can see the small
puff of dust that erupts futile
before being drowned and turned to mud

this is the naked face of the divine
don’t flinch or look away
she wants all of you
will take no part of your being hostage
she will use you down to your last breath
that is her promise to you
she comes groaning loud hungry wet

i welcome her now
have grown to love her
i go out into that savage wetness willingly
heart drumming hard against my ribcage
my breath staccato with desire
she is on my face
in my mouth
on my tongue
it is only when i am soaked and shaking in her grasp
that i know for sure i am home