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Rain Rain
by Abigail George
2017-12-14 12:13:20
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Rain

    She’s graceful. A wall of flame. She’s
beautiful.
    She’s the lover that I will never have. The morning
    is vulnerable and open like the face of a beautiful
    man who is staring at the woman he is deeply in
    love with. I think of God when I think of her. Of
    course, He created her. The woman that I am in
    love with. There can never be anything between us.
    She will go on to have fearless children. I will go
    on to write novels. She is married to a poet. (All men
rain001_400are poets in their own way). We haven’t really
talked. She admires me in her own way and I admire
    her. In photographs, her magazine-hair is wavy.
    Luxurious. She looks like a film star. I want to mark

    the return of the tragic hero and saint
in her arms.
    I want to find the peace and harmony that I cannot
    find anywhere else there (in her arms). I used to
    think about death but now when I see her, think of
    her, all I can think of is life. I want to come just
    as I am to the breathy dream of her. The goal of her.
    She’s savage in her love (I know) and I already
know that I won’t be able to exist in that kind of world.
    All my life, love and the relationships I’ve had
    with others have been supervised. First, by my parents.
My mother’s instinct. My father’s inhospitable silence.
    Then by a God that had to be feared. A God
    that died for humankind’s sins. So, I flit and

    flirt from men and women powerful
and elegant
    in their own way. I know the world of prayer
    and meditation but I don’t pray to be with her.
    I pray for her future happiness. I know the chaste
    world of hospital corridors. That universe of
    doctors and nurses and patients and medicine.
    I’ve spent winters in hospitals (every year or
    so, when the depression returns). She’s changing
    the world around her like a world seen
through falling snow. She is body. She is soul. I am body too. I am soul.
    All I want to do is kiss her sweet open vulnerable
    face. Her moonlit shoulder blades. The nape of her milky
    neck. (Of course, I know nothing will come
    of this love). She will raise fearless children (that’s the
reality of the situation),
and I will go on to write novels.

***********************************************************************
Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren"
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!

 life_06_400

 


   
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