Rainy Season - A Poem
Join me as I relearn the language of my soul.
A slowing down, a gradual resting,
a deep breath before the familiar plunge
into equatorial origin.
My rivers too rise with tropical rain,
pounding and pushing against the banks,
clearing debris, flowing brown
across sand to open sea.
Layers of sediment, messy and thick,
find their way home,
nourishing something
while cleansing another.
And so let these rivers flow—
let broken poetry fill pages,
let stagnant waters burst forth,
let imperfection be forgotten in movement.
Never mind the mess.
What is important is the current,
the movement, the emptying.
A necessary cycle
rebegun.
(Mexico, 2021)