Scrap Paper Thinking

Heimweh

Thursday, 28 June 2007

I wrote this one after having walked home in the rain, like so often on this wet island...

The sky's burst pipes wash me clean

of yet another day's routine.

I like the way rain gels my cropped hair to the skull.

Eylashes heavy with tears, not mine

(this time).

I don't increase my pace:

There's an umbrella in my bag

But I bet against myself

how wet I'll get.

I am someone who

Sticks out her tongue

to appease that thirst

for water like for everything.

Hoping that at least one of these raindrops

Once swam in my hometown's river,

before it decided to hitch a ride with a cloud

to find me here

and give me comfort.