[lit-ideas] Found Poem in the Rain

Hi,
 
Poem for My Day...
 
Here's a found poem...
Intermittent Rain


Rain hitting the shovel
leaned against  the house,
rain eating the edges
of the metal in tiny bites,
bloating  the handle,
cracking it.
The rain quits and starts again.

There are  people who go into that room in the house
where the piano is and close the  door.
They play to get at that thing
on the tip of the tongue,
the  thing they think of first and never say.
They would leave it out in the rain  if they could.

The heart is a shovel leaning against a  house
somewhere
among the other forgotten tools.
The heart, it's always  digging up old ground,
always wanting to give things a decent  burial.

But so much stays fugitive,
inside,
where it can't be  reached.

The piano is a way of practising
speech when you have no  mouth.
When the heart is a shovel that would bury itself.
Still we can go  up casually to a piano
and sit down and start playing
the way the rain  felt in someone else's bones
a hundred years ago
before we were  born,
before we were even one cell,
when the world was clean,
when  there were no hearts or people,
the way it sounded
a billion years ago,  pattering
into unknown ground. Rain

hitting the shovel leaned against  the house,
eating the edges of the metal.
It quits,
and starts again.

Roo Borson
taken from the 1989 collection: "Intent, or the Weight of the  World"


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