Heaven pours forth a speech of mercy and kindness, but I don’t receive it. All I hear are pelts of rain hitting the roof. With another fire to put out at home, I can only mutter and sputter about the inconvenience of this so-called goodly rain. Going the extra mile on a short lunch break peeves me. Even more so that I should get wet. Driving too fast, I deflect exclamation points off the windshield more effectively with the daggers in my eyes than those Quick Lube wipers that need replacing. At home, I push a pair of dry socks into my bag and fling a broken umbrella onto the floor of the car for a quick turnaround. Under a patriotic shield of red, white, and inaugural blue, I sprout disdain for this sudden leaky condition. Returning to room 503, I am aware [just now] of how empty I feel.
I position a coffee mug under a drip in the ceiling.
this old rain bucket ~
i promise to cup my heart
if you crack the sky
Linking up again with Ligo Haibun’s February 7, 2014 with the prompt: Empty