Monsoon

Don’t let me glorify unjustly.
Before monsoons come, I love the idea
of rain. Cooling off, the balancing.

For days, shopkeepers lift their sacks
of rice and flour. Those who can
already live on high ground.

When the rain comes, life grows fins.
Buckets swim. Loose boards and
corrugated tin like rafts. The poet-me

can overlook the trash and feces floating,
vast mosquito breeding grounds. I’d rather
focus on the sea than all this wading.

Feet that bloom like mushrooms.
Tender knees. There can be too much
of anything. Sunlight burning from below.

The poet-me wades in between the houses,
past the barriers the water chose to keep.
I peer through every window noting what

has anchored down. Those with rafters
sleep on rafters. Those without
must make another way or drown.









Emily K. Bright's poetry has appeared in multiple journals and anthologies, including North American Review, Other Voices International, and Beloved on Earth: 150 Poems of Grief and Gratitude. Her chapbook, Glances Back, is available from Pudding House Press. She teaches writing at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire.