By Angel Cox
I prayed for rain.
The rainclouds break open and silver pours
from the holes in your face. You wail
lightning. I prayed for rain
and it happened. I caught your tears
in my shaking hands. Burned and ran between my fingers.
Still I held the moon in my arms
until a smile warmed up your face. Your eyes shone
like the sun. You wanted a rainbow out of rain.
I weaved it. You placed it in the sky when the rain
But now you are scared of thunder. When it crashes, you
run to me. You say please stop the rain.
My hands shake. Falter. I can only make rainbows. Weave them from
my soul. Keep you dry, but they do not stop
the rain. You turn away. You say no more rain.
I sink in the sand. Deserted, I ask why. You are scared
of lightning, scared of the sound. Even buried in dust, I whisper prayers
to the sky. And it will never work. But I pray anyways.