20 June 2009 | Vol. 9, No. 2

My entire childhood I thought there is no mystery

by LILAH HEGNAUER

                    to the rain: it rains every night, clockwork

                                                                                of my undoing,

          vital to each iris as it was to my lantern of a self,

belly down in the low-slung fulcrum

                                        of shyness; obdurate and unwieldy and refusing to say

yes, I know you. Little body, I thought I had a vice grip on reality

and wouldn't let it go. I

                    believed I hardened against

downpour, caulked my weak seams. I believed hurry

                              and happenstance. I believed, mostly, in rain.

I mean this literally.