The Bird in the Rain
There’s a small black and white bird outside my window, sitting on the power line. It’s raining steadily and this little bird keeps shaking itself off, spreading out its wings and trembling, trying to get dry. Except, it’s still raining.
Yes, this is really happening as I type this and yes, I’m a poet, and it’s also a metaphor.
It’s hard to get dry, to get even one moment of thinking that feels even a tiny bit clear, when we are constantly deluged. In the collapse of capitalism, in the climate emergency, in wars and increasing violence, it is a deluge.
This morning, I got together with a few beloved friends and we all cried together. None of us knows what to do (I certainly don’t) or even, necessarily, what to think. None of us have managed to shake ourselves dry, but how could we?
I’ve got my first mini chapbook coming out in two days, and it feels really really bizarre to be “promoting” anything right now. I will say that I have learned more about history and compassion from poems than anywhere else. I wrote these poems during a slightly different set of emergencies, when I felt desperately unprepared for each day.
But honestly, I’d rather you give your money to a relief org, or spend it on groceries for your family. I’ll be reading poems for free online with two poet friends on Dec 5—reply to this post if you’d like the link to join. And I’ll be posting videos of poems on Instagram (I’m @AdrieRose_). And there’s loads of my poems up on the web already for free. So get some poems. If you want a lil’ book, great. But mostly I just want each of us to know that we’re not the only little bird out here in the downpour.
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