assignment 9—emanuelle sippy—so my lips can part

Blog 9

[if war is rain, and i am me, i think war sucks when its hot and sticky and humid. i don't like steam room war or sauna war. but crisp, fresh air war, fist fall wars, wars the garden really needs, thoes are different, justified but not necessarily convenient. if rain is the aftermath of war i don't like the mud but its fun to submerge my shoes in

if rain is war overdue, wanting to be induced i think it should attempt natural labor. if rain is war avoided, if rain is war unbeknownst to us, if rain is the war of comforting after...

if rain is asking how to remember, my lips can part.

it was raining the day i first asked that question. i had just seen a play about the holocaust, was tired after a sleepover with a friend, and on our way to get ice cream, i'm the right way to describe how i was feeling, it felt too complicated for a word, then and now, but i know it helped to think the world was crying with me.]

the rain pours down effortlessly

each step, some direction

i feel the drops, cold refreshed wind

i see the leaves, water accumulating

branches block drops of empathy,

i step out of the wood chips, into the concrete sea 

desiring that trickling sensation, i lean back 

my tears are deadlocked 

yet i taste the salt

traveling to my chin 

eyes surrender, still conscious of the street

the universe is crying—

a prayer for tears 

tears of benevolence

and tribulation

exploring tears and 

reminiscing tears

tears of audacity and

tears of dubiety 

Lamentation of the clouds,

indomitable, 

submerged 

in, out

some direction.