Wet Weather Poem by Shikhandin Shikhandin

And so it came to pass that an itinerant cloud
having slipped from its perch on its chosen path,
descended and entered, my heart.
Clouds carry moisture, but my heart is wet already,
and red from pumping blood.

At the ocean's edge, dipping my feet into surf
I watch the day come and go
bearing gifts for humankind. The sea does that too,
like the faithful cur that he is. Unfazed by rejection
and undaunted. The sea returns after every retreat,
until a kindly patch of sand decides to keep
that odd bottle, plastic scrap,
lost slipper, a pair of pants. A hoard
of helpless things. Some from the drowned.
Those that got dragged away, and never sought
to be found. Or were forgotten, left behind. Rejected
discards for the sea to play catch with. Silly
beast. Sillier me for having caught a cloud.
Who does that? And now it's a cough
in my throat. I can't sing. My voice even departs
in a huff at times, leaving an unuttered thought
flustered and breathless. Devastated. Embarrassed.
Catlike I wish to spring onto a warm and unsuspecting
lap. Bring up that cloud like a fur ball and send it
gamboling down the streets with the wind.
I want the rain to sing. Not hide inside a cloud.


***