September 2012

Drought

Until the rain comes, I will lie here, the water

deep, my hair fanned out like a mermaid or

a floater in the Hudson, my skin mottled

like a sculpin, knobby like a starfish or the bottom

of a stony river. I will rise long enough to breathe.

I will submerge again, a boulder in a rising

tide. I will lie here watching the ceiling ruffle,

letting the water cool. It is quiet here. When

my skin begins to rise, I will drain, make room

enough to add more heat. I will breathe mist

into the cold, my hair streaming, while I wait. There

are some things I cannot control. Until the rain

comes, I will hold my breath and sink. I will wait.