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Who decides when it’s time to do the Rain dance?
Who is the one who looks at the corn stalks
Or the turnips
Or the tomatoes
And says, “Too yellow.” Or, “Much too brown.”
I want to decide when to do the Rain dance.
So that every time I’m not happy
With the way things are
Or the way things used to be
Or the way things are going to be
I can look up into the black sky
And shout, “Too yellow.” Or, “Much too brown.”
And have the whole earth
(Or at least as far as I can see)
Rain, and Cry, and grieve with me.

Some people say that
We are all diamonds
Of personality
With a hundred facets
Cut to imperfection
By purposeful hands
And seen by a face with
Contented delight upon our reflections

I was tired of those people
So I walked.
And I am walking.
I have walked five miles
But I am carrying the whole world
And it is full of broken pieces
And lost things.

Will you walk with me?
We can go to Africa
The atmosphere there is almost as thick as you’ve made my skin
So thick
That it makes the sun look different
So thick that it makes the horses there have black stripes.


Once a year in Africa the cows
(Which we could call Wildebeest, if you like)
Migrate over the Nile.
And the crocodiles eat their hearts.

I will call a Rain dance.
But you can’t have my heart.

© 2007