A Poem by Yi Wu

Rain

The slow moment
you turned away
casting the slender long shadow
still smoldering with the Sun's
remnant warmth that brings back
memories of how it used to singe
where the two of us touched and
how we parted ways screaming in
flaming agony on the surface
of our epidermal spaces,

still smoldering, until your shadow
utterly blocked away even the morning star
and when H2O huddled together in cold
to be your unwitting messenger,
seeping through linen rags I put on to
clothe my mind to send a chilling reminder
that reverberated onto wherever blood flowed
da, da, weeeeeeeeeeeeeh
da, da, weeeeeeeeeeeeeh
shaking each of my moving part
to get its acts together, lest
I break apart into soaked debris,
each piece still physically repelling water
before the time would come for me to freeze

into tombstone,
and rain to slowly etch out the name and epitaph
you made for me



Yi Wu writes poetry and essays in Brooklyn, New York