A Passionate Downpour…
Caught in one of Florida’s frightful but beautiful torrential downpours, I slipped into a state of calm and summoned all the beauties of the past to my mind to offset nature’s violence being unleashed upon my car. I reached over for my Relationships CD by Bebe and Cece Winans and slipped it in. Strains of violin merged with saxophone, piano, harp, and cello perfected the moment. My mind wandered; my spirit followed. I traveled to a place called New York City — a clandestine street to be exact. It was there that I last embraced YOU: Five feet, eight inches high, Middle Eastern brown, maybe 160 pounds, ponytail pulled back revealing a face I since forgot, but a passion I cannot.
“Count it all joy /” — Bebe Winans is singing — “All that you’re going through / Even when you’re feeling down.”
And I was going through it. The rain then and the rain now, pouring upon my heart, over my spirit, and into my soul. Yes, it was pouring.
Torrents of rain, bullets of shame beating down upon my pain. What was there for me to gain?
There were signs dating a thousand days back, but I guess I didn’t see. So when HE tried to rip open my jaws and screw off my head with his bare hands, it was my mind that got twisted.
And even though my knees touched ground, it was my spirit that fell along with my tears.
I could reason it no more because I had reasoned it before, and it just didn’t make sense. So, it really was me. It had to be! Lord, help me!
Maybe if I were a little more dutiful and a little less beautiful, things would be different.
Maybe if I lost the weight and fixed his plate, things would be great.
Maybe if I accepted blame for the cursed mail HE sent that dame. Now, what’s her name? Yes….
What a shock. You see, it came back to me because HE had typed in the address incorrectly.
Good Lord up above! It read: “After the first time we made love!”
“After the first time we made love.…”
God, my world’s caving in. The crack’s in the wall, the dust’s on my face, and the earth has already begun to move.
Where am I gonna go? What am I gonna do? Lord, if you could only see me through.
My heart’s aching, my spirit’s flaking, and my very soul is quaking.
Is this a test? Then, let me do my best. But stay with me. I’m asking you to stay.
Stay with me through the course of life; stay right by my side
When the rain begins to pour.
Stay with me through the course of life; stay right by my side
When the rain begins to pour. (Bebe and Cece Winans)
And, pouring it was, the day I met YOU.
Torrents of rain, bullets of shame beating down upon my pain. What was there for me to gain?
Something moved within. Big deal. You see, movement was nothing new to me.
I was not impressed. At the very best, I needed time to decipher the rest.
But that wasn’t all I needed.
I needed comfort and security and consistency, consistency, consistency, assurance, reassurance, commitment, and love.
And I wasn’t sure YOU couldn’t give me that, but I dared not ask because from my platform of confusion and chaos, my judgment was impaired and my sentences over-pronounced.
I evaluated everything based on dire needs and in that state, nothing was at ease, and possibly nothing and no one could please.
I was too needy to be so independent and too independent to be so needy, so the cycle of madness carried on.
I needed to escape. And I did.
I drove out of town with the rain coming down and stopped to say goodbye underneath the New York sky. I don’t even know why.
YOU were five feet, eight inches high, Middle Eastern brown, maybe 160 pounds, ponytail pulled back revealing a face I since forgot, but a passion I cannot.
Yes, I do remember YOU.
YOU entered the room out of view, yet I always knew that it was you.
Yards away and that’s a fact; your eyes would pierce my very back.
Your heated breath upon my skin: God, I would give YOU anything!
Every fiber under arrest if YOU dared to touch my breast…
God, I’ve said too much!
What will YOU think of me? What do YOU feel for me? Will YOU run? Will YOU hide? Add to the pain I feel inside?
It’s not long since I left that mess. Is it wise to really confess
My heart beats faster with YOU around? YOU need not even make one sound!
I hear your smile; I sense your frown. God, I wish YOU were in town.
But since YOU never said, and I never asked — is this just a thing of the past?
Confused, uncertain, insecure, I remain. God, this is driving me insane.
Oh oh, I’m out of control. I’m slipping and sliding and on a roll.
Thinking so hard, it serves me right — in a downpour of this type!
Help me now, as I start to fall.
Shelter me, I don’t ask for much at all.
All I need is just one more day, giving me hope to dream upon.
Don’t let me walk this road alone. (Bebe and Cece Winans)
Well, the rain is still falling: Torrents of rain, bullets of shame beating down upon my pain. What is there for me to gain?
I’m not sure.
I’m not sure I have the right to say the things I say and ask the things I ask, for though the storm’s not raging, the waves are still moving, and I haven’t quite dropped anchor.
But I really, really need to know because it simply haunts me so — the whys and the what-abouts.
Why did YOU shower me with stares as if a sign that your heart cares?
Why did YOU brush your body against mine and make me cry out to the Divine?
Why did YOU rest my head upon your thighs, stroking my hair with rhythmic strides?
Why did YOU choose a birthday treat where you could gently wash my feet
And massage them until every fiber of my being stood still?
And what about the time YOU said your emotion was foreign
Because YOU had never had such difficulties resisting one woman?
Yet YOU had loved before and lusted before, so what could it be? Can YOU please tell me?
And what about the time YOU said so confidently
That if things were different YOU would surely date me
And asked me to watch “Bridges of Madison County” -
What were YOU trying to say to me?
And what about….what about…
What about the [glances] we made? What about the dreams of cascades?
What about the [things you said]: Are they still alive or dead?
And what about the [passions we tamed]? Can I still believe it’s ok?
Can we somehow talk about it?
Somehow work it out
Can we somehow find a way; find a way
Somehow find a plan; somewhere there is a plan
Can we somehow work it out, somehow work it out
Somehow find a way, somehow find a way
Somehow talk about it, somehow talk about it. Hey Hey
Somehow there’s an answer; Somewhere there’s an answer
Can we somehow work it out, somehow work it out
Can we somehow talk about these, these, these what abouts. (Bebe and Cece Winans)
Yes, the rain is still falling. Whisps of rain, snowy droplets of shame, gently touching on my pain. What is there for me to gain?
I don’t know. But this I do: I will always remember YOU: Five feet, eight inches high, Middle Eastern brown, maybe 160 pounds, ponytail pulled back, revealing a face I since forgot, but a passion, I cannot.
(Prose poem inspired by songs at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ax9sK-eLv8E&list=PLQq1NNRCTmRh8MBZjSLV-3sBkZZ38fFJ-
