Poem by Katya Sabaroff Taylor
Can you ever write enough poems?
Can you ever stop talking about this
relentless rain and how the
blue hydrangeas bow under its dark dappling
or about the birds hiding in the thick limbs
of the bending swaying magnolia?
I gaze at the world
through my window.
a world so vast, a storm so wild.
Something drops and breaks,
the day becomes suddenly evening
though it is not even five o’clock.
Can I describe wondering if this
could be a hurricane, if everything I know
will be smashed or flooded, if I am doomed
if my city is doomed
if I can save myself, my home, my town
by writing this poem?
I can believe what I tell myself
to believe, I can be the magician
the shaman the prophet
who averts danger and yet
delights in the tumult of the thunder,
who recoils from the too-close lightning
while breathing OM OM
and letting the words cascade
like the fountain from a now broken gutter.
Oh the thrill of what cannot be controlled
but must be experienced,
gotten through, overcome, lifted up,
restored, embellished, made beautiful.
This is my job, my mission
and now the rain becomes a massive
sheet of water, erasing even the sight
of my flowers, the birdhouse, only the
sky committed to this moment
oversees the deluge
as I make haste to consecrate
the blur, the roar, everything shaking
but I’m still upright, recording it all.
June 23, 2020