When the rain had come
They returned to bathe
Previously baptized in brotherhood
The older boy lifted the bucket
And poured it over his naked brothers head
As if to say
“In case this is the last rain ever
You will be washed new.”
He then knelt
As if to pray
And scooping the puddles up into his palms
He let the waters trickle down over his own face.
Because he, like many of us,
Will only ever know
What it is to be second hand clean
And I wonder why I drive 80 when the road only asked for 65
Why am I always the first one to get there and last one to leave?
Why do I always pray the longest or loudest?
First or not at all?
Why have I talked more than listened?
Done more than watched?
Protested more than changed?
Why do I live like I am bent on creating beauty
And yet miss all the beauty going on around me?
Looking a train head on
Pressing my tongue to the tracks
Feeling the rumble
Ride the stillness of my vocal chords
Ricocheting off the depths of silence in my chest.
It’s been a long time since I found risk in prayer.
And this rain that fell
Had never looked more like heaven
It’s broken ocean spilling over the edges of God
In the rain
A hymn to the groan of a thundercloud
A corner of church
Not caught up in the quake
A hallelujah for those with no voice
A whisper into the deep reaches of heaven
With no promise of the chase
But I am far too busy to
In the rain
Truth: I’m not comfortable enough in my own skin to rain dance
Truth: all the things I am so busy doing are just my way of faking it
Truth: you deserved better from me
Truth: I won’t ever get another chance
Truth: I promise to live like I will
Because I know that this might be my only bucket
Might very well be the last rain
Know things about coming clean that I do not
So teach me.
Nick Macedo is can be reached via firstname.lastname@example.org
For booking and chap book inquiries visit www.nickmacedopoetry.com