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Flash Flood

House of Light

By Jen Parkhill “JP”Published 3 days ago 2 min read
Flash Flood
Photo by Raf Winterpacht on Unsplash

Flash Flood.

are you rain,

she says.

yes, yes, I am.

how did you know?

I say.

my grandmother was rain.

Flash Flood.

You.

she wants to know what my rules are

so she can break them.

break brake bake devour.

in the mailbox is an envelope full of petals

I decode them one by one.

have you ever awoken

in a light house,

she says.

no, I say.

wet.

and nodding head

House of Light,

She says.

HOUSE OF LIGHT,

I say.

flash flood.

mad rush.

us.

in that house of light.

but I can only think of the Moon

and how it’s always in my sky.

even in the clear cut black

of crystal night

dutiful soldiers,

my waters stand and rise

current pulling

favoring Moon’s

unrelenting

shift

shape.

I can wait

more than a fortnight

for sun to beam

at its crescent

its half full

its shadow shifty

slow climb

to gobsmacked

moonlight.

nights

that certify

with see

what the body knows.

the body always knows.

Moon holds her

cards just so.

I’ll let you see

just this much

of me.

rush rush.

how I’d love

to rush

mad

rush.

She.

break brake bake

devour

feel the whoosh

the thrust

of water

in the heart canal.

yet,

I am more faithful

than I ever intended to be.

my body is an ocean

perpetually pulled

tide

give and take

of cool wet

that breathes

in.

out.

still.

these waters have shuffled

side to side

traversed great distance

to kiss

a foreign shore

and still they bend and rise

obedient.

Moon’s voiceless call.

beckoning

of light.

all the stars

bent in prayer

holding torches

that press

themselves bright

and valiant

candles scattered

around Mary’s virgin skirt.

a vigil.

held hope

for nights

moon shines

that relentless

Gleam.

all things

at her will.

me,

the animals.

we wait.

darkness

like a shawl.

then,

a thunderous return,

animals call

even they

lack faith.

steadfast company

long hidden from view,

they cry

me too

me too

me too

where was the evidence

of you.

right there

in your body,

Moon says.

though she never

need speak.

the body knows

what the mind forgot.

the body knows.

gentle.

gentle.

listen.

love poems

About the Creator

Jen Parkhill “JP”

Jen Parkhill “JP”, a first generation Cuban-American artist and proud member of the LGBTQIA+ community. Cat dad, writer, filmmaker, actor, friend, and graduate of the Tisch School of the Arts, NYU.

Hurling through time.

@jenparkhill

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    Jen Parkhill “JP”Written by Jen Parkhill “JP”

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