Have you ever seen the dragonflies rise
to battle against the rain?
My mother used to cry when the rain came.
Eyes of blue staring out into a belligerent grey sea,
taking the storms beating against the shores as
a personal attack.
Every rain drop was a needle plunged into her side.
Every lightning strike a searing slap across her face.
Her tears ran like blood: thick
and heavy from her eyes
From our position on the hillside,
we watched as waves larger than mountains
rolled over sand and stone and skin.
Those who anticipated the storm climbed.
Those who did not held their children close
and sang to drown out the swirls until
they themselves were drowned.
Up on the hillside, when the screams from below
were no more, I was alone with my mother’s moans
and the whistling wind and my undeserved life.
I was alone in my high castle
with its stone battlements rising above,
rising like the dragonflies, to
battle the rain.