Let the Rain Keep Falling

By: Ayesha Asad

Let the Rain Keep Falling

O birthplace rain     I take what I can from

your mouth,    delivering myself

             from spring seeds,

wetting my tongue

                            with your resilience.

And you warm my skin           in segments,

                     rinsing winter & sweat,

my unskinned self        trapped in your hollowed

                                     bone marrow. Lately,

I’ve been listening        to the ways the trees sway,

          silent behind glass, trembling in pockets

of air                   they cannot escape from.

    & I have run        twice from myself

    & my future.       & I have stared the sky down

             & wished it to darken into a sign.

& I have asked myself            what qadr means.

                      Tomorrow,        I’ll run

                         unstop & swallow – let what

was scraped against my lips

                       fly outside, a bird from my throat,

a fixed-wing esophagus,         a tree that emits

        a steady hum. & I will miss standing

on the roof that sings to the city.    & I will take my dates

sweeter than ever.    & I will sing through the muscle of

                my own throat

                   & I will glare at myself,

             daring my body to step aside

& lose what it never had.