Rainy Season in Savannah

I actually wrote this a couple of years ago, but its the same prayer I find myself praying these days. The issue of thirst seems to be of paramount importance to my spiritual life. "This is my blood. Drink in remembrance of me." I have not taken communion in months now, and I miss it. It is good to be thirsty, though. I don`t think we`re supposed to find oursleves feeling truly "full" or "slaked" until that Final day.

I wish this poem had more eloquence and refinement... the raw imagery feels a bit juvenile to me when I re-read it. But, its one of the most honest, and therefore best, poems I think I`ve written.

“Rainy Season in Savannah”

When the air is dry it hurts my eyes.
Thirsty, I pluck pebbles from the creek bed
To hurl them at the empty, open skies,
Imagining a deep-gray thunderhead.
I brace myself to split the stormy cloud,
Anticipating saturated nights,
When I may plunge, as draught has not allowed,
From muddy banks down fresh torrential flights
Of earthy blood that spills down thirsty land.
The open veins contain, though don’t restrain.
The dirt’s descending heart pumps into sand
The power to revive this parched terrain;
Unlike my body, circulating blood,
Your Life is boundless current, graceful flood.
Joshua P. Suich 2/18/05 – 3pm