I Used To Dream Of Not Being Broken

I coaxed the monsoon
From the jagged pock-marked pools
On the sidewalk’s cement

I drew out the tempest remains
With the speckled dun velum
Peeled back from a black walnut twig

I poked in one bug hole then another
Sucking the summer juices from each cement square
And painted ephemeral portraits

I worked like the storm
Furiously stalking the sketches
Then watching them disappear

Wished I too could evaporate
Before the women provoked by
Their own torment found trouble:

Southern squalls delivered
Thunderous claps
Drenching me in terror filled fear

Forty seasons have passed
I do not coax water into sticks
I create pictures resistant to fading

I am the tree
That drinks water
I won’t be broken