Uncategorized24 Jun 2019 08:02 am
Peasant carts before the puddle (detail) by Alfred von Wierusz-Kowalsk (1849 to 1915)

Paige Smith


when it rains
it pours
when it rains
we hide
inside
water unwinds
our space-time
water drips 
down the bark
and buildings
streams
from the gutter
forms puddles
on the sidewalk, in parking lots
on country paths, in backyards
we lock the doors, keep the kids in
pray for the sun

2
hands appear
from those puddles
heave themselves
from the rim of those
little innocent lakes
onto sturdy land
up climb those heavy
beasts
from elsewhere
smelling of
ancient agony
dripping in decay
heavy-footed, 
slither-hairy
their insatiable weapons
scraping our streets
the places we reserve
for the sick
the places in front of 
our mailboxes
the places where
children draw in chalk
in these stolen drenched days
they walk amongst us, sniffing for meat
shaking off their radiation
in the showers of this world

3
and from the puddles
we glance
their netherworld
green-glowing
alien aurora borealis
vomit-colored sky
over stricken slums
where surely
some apocalypse 
has already occurred
surely their rains
descend in acid-flavor
and they see
in their streets
the greenery, the lushness, 
mysterious portals where we
fat-covered folk, so juicy, live
they decide
to step through.

4
sometimes they seize
someone 
a prisoner
a dinner
shoving them
into gutterless space
someone
makes no splash
they tumble down
into the horrored space
across what we know as space

5
we were blessed
by drought
for a long time
until
invariable and threatening
the clouds
rolled in
faster than the future
and opened 
themselves up
like jaws
eager to feed
the dry earth
eager to feed
us to the beasts

6
in the vast
cracked 
asphalt sea
the grocery store
parking lot
my wife
had no chance
snatched before
she could reach
the handle of the door
pulled down
by the non-faces
and digitless hands
from the nightmare planet
the hands of hell.

7
the rain
now down
to a drizzle,
the worst 
passed,
the formless 
aliens
retreating 
to their disturbing corner
of the universe
perhaps
our brutal future
perhaps
our savage past
I walk
down my secure 
street
the neighbors
dare not look
through their windows
I bring myself
to the park
so dug-up
by dogs,
find a me-size hole
fearful puddle
I peer into
that improbable 
mirror
dust-stormed
hazardous 
wasteland
their world
might have been
like ours, once
might have been
friendly, green.

Some of them
might be merciful
still.

Only one way
to know.
I step into 
the rain
water which is not wet
I step into 
the doorway
and disappear
from this earth.
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