by Allyson Morin

I am not a stranger to the rain

I am not a stranger to the rain. 
I am not a hard-packed desert 
who at first storm-break will 
flood, reject 
the course of life that comes most naturally. 
I am soft enough
to accept the storm without spilling– 
to soak sorrows into these
old-growth forest bones 
and milk the life from gathering clouds 
to birth tender shoots 
reaching for the sun. 

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