Opal Literary
- Jan 26, 2021
- 1 min read

Monsoon Season by magda n-w

It’s torrential

and I have never found myself

Hidden sweet between the pages

of a good book on a hot sun day

or in the lyrics of slow sung song

but here at the slid door

with just loose enough a latch

here at the edge of the world

where the wetness on the pane

pools at my fingertip, pressed

I am cool and it is blood warm

drowning rain, duck-perfect

rain to fill your lungs with

rain to fix your soul

Rain to wash in, dig your toes to root

walk heavy stepped through sodden grass

rain to drive the worms for air

to shake mosquitoes into frenzy

It’s torrential

little drips of dying and fresh air gulp of life

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