Against Whatever Holds You Down, and: Rainless Season

Abstract

Against Whatever Holds You Down, and: Rainless Season Ann E. Michael (bio) Against Whatever Holds You Down Summer, and the barefoot girlskips across hot macadam drivewaysto the cooler concrete streetswith their broken curbsand broken glass beside the smallmown lawns, walks ten blocksto the playground where shesits alone on the seesaw.She can see heat waves risingfrom the railroad tracks.She's young but sure she's leftgirlhood behind on the swing set,grown like the plantain weedsbeside the shiny metal slide.Mosquitoes and gnats rise. A pair of third-graders clambersonto the jungle gym.She envies them their bruisedankles and scratched legs,nobody's telling them to grow up,put on pantyhose, walk like a girl.She almost wishes she smoked,seems like something she could dowith her aimless time, make herselflook occupied. She's busy,she just doesn't seem like it,busy thinking about the world [End Page 43] and her place in it. Then she seesthe swarm of dragonflieshovering over the sluice drain,a hundred of them, maybe.Even the little kids don't notice. She stays balanced on the frame,watches the darning needles swoopand dart, hungry, busy, rising upagainst whatever holds them down. Rainless Season The days are hot, so hotthat heat contaminates night.Air stirs only through fan bladesand the restless lungs of my children,who sleep half naked on the floorstriated by moonlightwaiting for rain which is obstinateand hides in the cellar.The dog has crawled beneath our bed,seeking a den, and earth,some dark and cooling burrowwe must conjure from imagination. I dream of doors.Our wooden house swells around us,absorbing air's steaminess.If only the rafters wouldexhale a thunderstorm,a deluge, a week of fog. [End Page 44] I think you once wrotethat night is uncompromising,but then you might alsohave mentioned how night gives upa handful of stars in exchangefor a little more of sun's reflectionon the moon's bland disc.Could be barter or negotiation,could be compromise. It dependson perspective. You would have seenboth outcomes. And others. I dream of otherswhile my heart constricts aroundthe loss of you. When I exhale,a torrent. The keening wind.The river in the arroyoand the dust-dry chasmafterward. [End Page 45] Ann E. Michael Ann E. Michael, writing coordinator at DeSales University, is the author of Water-Rites (Brick Road) and four chapbooks. Her poems, reviews, and essays have appeared widely. Visit www.annemichael.wordpress.com. Copyright © 2018 University of Nebraska Press