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Seven Ways of Looking at a Rainstorm
I
Through the murky, ashy sky,
There was no beginning nor an end,
But the rain cut through, crashing down.
II
I didn’t care to wipe it away;
Salty, blurred, shedding, bloodshot,
Slipping down my face like rain.
III
After months on end of none at all,
The rain descended to bless our land,
Rich and fertile like how it once was.
IV
Pushed beneath the surface,
With water in my eyes and mouth,
I was suffocated by rainwater and chlorine.
V
It looked like the flames would touch the sky,
The smoke polluting the air, but the rain poured in,
Refreshingly cold, extinguishing the fire in my eyes.
VI
The old man three doors down died
Nobody came to the funeral
Using the rain as an excuse.
VII
Immersed in the rainfall,
All I know is that
Nothing keeps it from falling
Yet nothing holds it up
And through the murky,
The everything,
The nothingness,
It will continue on.
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I wrote this poem after reading Wallace Stevens's Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. It inspired me to look beyond the thing and the idea of it, and instead think about what connections one might have to it.