swallowing of the rains

springtime came and went so fast

i barely had time to blend into the

cherry blossom trees, was almost unable

to twist up into the rhododendrons

or feel alive in the lilac bushes.

my mouth had longed to taste spring rain

but they always passed me by, just so,

slightly out of the reach of my teeth.

sometimes i forget the seasons shall change

with or without me, so i must in turn

slow my breathing, slow my body,

tie myself back in with early summer sunsets

ease my way to cricket noises in the trees

prepare to wrap myself in english roses

and endure the heat by the ocean’s edge.

soon autumn shall come and my bones will

turn red and orange and yellow and fall off,

and winter arrives again and my body

folds inwards inside itself. and springtime,

springtime, my darling,

my lover, she returns to me again,

and my body becomes whole in fields of lilies

and i shall take my time, this time,

in the ritual swallowing of the rains.

by mari jagt, 2018.