My art is like the rain
That falls in spring.
It comes Suddenly.
There's no umbrella to catch it.
I've been in a drought.
I need the rain to moisten
The dry crust around my heart.
So I pray for it to fall
But it doesn't.
Then one day, signs of a storm appear.
Strong winds shake the tree leaves.
Dark clouds roll in.
It's evening when the skies open up
And water pours from the heavens.
My mama tells me God is crying,
But I know better.
I listen to the pitter patter on the roof,
While I sit in the kitchen,
Watching rain drops slide down
The window panes.
Suddenly I get that itch to write.
I feel that familiar cramp in my right hand,
Where my pen should be.
Sometimes the storm is brief
And the ink on the page drys quickly.
Sometimes it brings floods,
And my words are swept away.