Maybe the Cure-all is Rain, A Poem about Grief and Dreams

Maybe the Cure-all is Rain 2016| by Finn Graves

I knew a girl once,

she had real big dreams.

Pie in the sky dreams.

The type of dreams, make you want to 

sing-along-dreams.

But then they died.  

 

She didn't give up, or give less, or stop anything,

but the dreams inside her chest,

the cloud castles bent on becoming

cobb huts

stopped forming.

the underclouds blew away

and she got left with blue sky,

space they say

and the scientific formula

for making rain.

 

she ended up starting to think

Maybe the cure all is tears.

 

""Maybe the cure-all is grief,"

she said

"Drops of salt water in an ocean

called body.

Cause this body of water,

90% liquid rain

wasn't making anything right yet."

 

Grief, when we're grieving hard,

when it's got a hold of heart strings,

most of us'll up and walk off,

stop speaking,

stop Eating

start drinking,

stop seeing,

anything to calm the pain,

shift the blame

to other shoulders.

 

Grief, unannounced,

comes in waves.

we have to move through it,

accept it sliding against our skins,

say yes to the endings,

to the sandpaper opinions of hurt,

listen and really hear

what grief has to say.

 

But we're not taught to do that.

No, we're taught to push away.

From grief,

from each other,

from the connection which comes

in a vulnerable community. 

 

How many dreams have died today?

Maybe they just didn't show up,

show off or show some leg

to the right folks.

maybe our dreams didn't sleep well,

sleep easy, sleep in

or fall deep

because you see

that girl done become a woman

working four jobs of Fridays

and she never had time for bullshit

but she sure learned how to listen closely

to the heartbeat pulse of

never enough,

and she said to me

early this morning:

 

"Maybe the cure all is tears.

Drops of rain in a body of water

ocean salt licking down,

formless and evolving."

 

"Maybe the cure all is tears," she said, 

"Baby girl, you go on and cry now

nothing worth standing up for today

in this damn strange world

of commerce and pain.

But us, you and me, 

we gotta believe in something.

So, let's believe in rain."

 

So I did, 

said a quiet prayer

bent my head back to my work.

the girl inside crying

the woman, vibrant paint on brush

colors, blowing in the wind

humming quietly,

 

Maybe,

just maybe,

the cure all is rain. 

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