Breaking

Despondence arrives with spotting on the roof.
Warm rain falls on the paddocks, to
Grow feed for the cattle, as
Hope drips warm into water.
Spreading tendrils, sinking clots.

Iron falls heavy
With the rhythm on the tin.
Metallic, rusted, and running.
New moon, same loss,
A failure to keep it within.

The sky drops its clouds in welcome sheets;
I wash mine in cold water.
A bright flash in the sky, rolling rumble.
Pain squeezing from inside, wrings
The last drops out of “this time.”

This time will be different.
This time it will stick.
This time next month,
Back here again, rocking
In foetal position

The rain brings life to the land.
It doesn’t wash away
Yearning, hopeless guilt, or
Ringing thought circles trying to learn
Which choice was definitive.

He touches me, with his want
As deep as my need.
I shut down hope, to
Stop the despair
Of the red rain.

Again returning, and again
Until I am dry, the land abundant.
Heifers becoming cows, fattening calves.
As it should be,
But not for me.