The Spring Rains Pound On Poem by Louie Vizcarra

Seamlessly and barely noticeable
while I was drowning in my songs and my poems
and burying my head in my poisons
the leaves migrated back to their summer home.
I poked my head above ground one day
just to check how things were
and was surprised to see the sun wave at me.

Apparently
while I was away visiting Strawberry Swing
or perhaps too drunk to notice
time had leapt forward a few months.
I begged forgiveness of the flowers and birds
for not having noticed their arrival in town.
I'm sorry, I've been preoccupied.
But I'm back now.

As soon as the sun and I were finished catching up
the spring rains came
ghosts and cousins of the snow that dusted my head when
the land was locked for months in deadly cold.
The clouds covered the sun and poured water for days on my beloved forest
trying relentlessly to drown my visitors.
Selfishly, rather than try to bargain with the clouds
strike some sort of deal or understanding for their departure
to protect my friends
I held out my bloody heart under the rain and hoped it to be washed clean.
And when the floods came
I rushed to the river banks
wading in and bathing
desperately trying to wash free from my broken mind
all memories of you.

I disregarded my guests
quickly explaining that summer was soon to be here
during which we could make merry and visit
surely by then the clouds will have moved on.
But at present, this was the highest priority.
The rain is my friend and I'm seeking his aid.
Shortly thereafter, my phone in my hand
my head dropped sharply and I groaned with disbelief.
I had bade farewell to my sickness, only to hear in response
'I will be here this summer.'