She saw a full moon in the sky.
That same ol’ moon.
The one she had seen three thousand miles away
when she was packing.
A silver rain rained.
She was glad of the rain,
the almost-too-bright to sleep
She wanted her desert life to be washed away
She wanted it to be rained on.
She wanted all her thoughts made clean, fresh, new.
“Rain on me silver rain.”
She wanted the rain to crack open what was hard and dry inside
to make rivulets and puddles and watery places
where something new—anything new—
“I am a desert. I need the rain.”
The morning dripped with silence.
a thick cottony sky, and
a sodden meadow.
Oh, for a mind with a cottony sky.
Oh, for a cottony mind.
She heard then but one bird.
A long, high trill.
Was there only one bird trilling?
Her room was perfect.
A retreat on the second floor.
French doors onto a balcony
white windows all ‘round
White coverlets and pillows.
It was all hers.
She didn’t want to leave her room that was all hers.
She wanted to hug her room
and wanted her room to hug her back.
“You are my new lover”
she said to her white room.
It was a vow.
“You are the only lover I will ever have.”
Author: Carmelene Siani
Editor: Catherine Monkman
Photo: Used with permission from Catherine Penn, M.A.