The Monday Before the Mid-Terms, and Rain
©November 5th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
The ground swells in anticipation
Rain-sodden, pregnant with future life
It prepares for imminent death.
In the meantime, we clench our muscles,
Tighten our jaws, feel our voices constrict,
The country heads to the polls tomorrow,
And my blood congeals in a strange,
Unnameable dread.
Winter rears his hoary head
Somewhere on the horizon a way off,
But doesn’t trouble us yet.
The leaves are yet to finish their downward dance,
A soughing of sorrow, a balletic descent,
A celebration of death.
Far, far away, thousands of refugees
Make their unknowing way to here.
If *this* is their land of choice
To which to flee, what was their land like?
What horrors did they leave behind,
And was our country not the cause?
And do they know what awaits them here?
Would they turn back, if they did?
The rain comes down, dripping
Unending. Human matters are trivial.
The rain endures,
After which, the floodwaters will rise,
There are no dams, no levees,
Lands will disappear.
We may not have an ark this time,
But that time is not yet,
Oh, please, not yet.
We can stem this tide,
Can we not?
Bring all your sandbags,
We have need of you.
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