Rainbeat
Rainbeat By Lindt Schmitz
You’re standing in a forest.
You have no voice, and your
Breath hangs loosely in the air like
The fading light of a faraway moon.
You cannot stand and your feet turn to mud
as you cling to the peeling pale bark.
There is no one around you.
You make no sound.
Your nails scratch long jagged lines
And in your fingers the
powder-soft tree turns
To cruel cement.
And yet you make no sound.
You grit your teeth
Against the blades.
It starts to rain.
The mournful tatta-ta- tatta
faintly, gently, wistfully
Drumming on your
Clothing, your body,
Tearing it away.
You are naked.
Cold.
Alone.
But the air
Isn’t so still
Any more.
Now you cry out,
A sweet, pure,
Painful wail,
And you harden
You r grip, dragging
Bloody fingers through
And up and over, and you
Find your feet again,
Rising, stumbling, rising again,
And like a steadfast sapling
You again grow anew.
Now is the time for growing.
Now is the time for that voice, your
Voice, to cry out, in long, wailing agony
Because you know now that your tears
Water your roots and keep you alive.
You are you.