By Donald S. Yarab
When the Rains Come
When the rains come … the dust shall become mud,
When the rains come … the mud shall become mire,
And the feet of the proud shall sink to the ankle,
And their words shall cling like clay to their tongues.
When the rains come … the roofs shall tremble,
The cisterns shall overflow their stone mouths,
And the low places shall remember the sea,
Calling out to the deep from which they were torn.
When the rains come … the idols shall dim,
Their painted eyes veiled in silt and silence,
And the temples shall weep through broken eaves,
For their gods shall not answer from the thunder.
When the rains come … the earth shall be heavy,
And the hearts of men heavier still;
The widow shall draw her shawl to her face,
And the child shall forget the taste of dry bread.
When the rains come … we shall huddle together,
Beholding the waters erase our names from the doorposts,
And none shall boast of his harvest,
For the river shall take what it wills,
Bearing all things toward the forgetting sea.
When the Sun Is Restored
When the sun is restored … the waters shall fade,
When the sun is restored … the mire shall break and sigh,
And the earth shall stir beneath the plough,
Breathing again as if reborn.
When the sun is restored … warmth shall come first,
A balm to the chilled and the shivering earth;
Green shall rise from the broken furrows,
And the people shall bless the light.
When the sun is restored … the fields shall swell,
The ears grow heavy, the vines bend low;
And laughter shall echo in the threshing floor,
Till the grain lies fuller than the granaries can hold.
And in the noonday brightness the sparrows fell silent,
For they knew the hour would not endure.
When the sun is restored … the rivers shall dwindle,
The soil yawn open like a parched mouth,
And famine shall creep from the roots of plenty,
Taking the firstborn of abundance.
When the sun is restored … the hearts of men shall fail,
Their tongues cleaving to the roofs of their mouths;
And the widow shall weep no longer,
For her tears have been taken by the wind.
When the sun is restored … we shall gather at the well,
Staring into its empty throat,
And all shall return to dust,
For from dust were we raised, and to dust we descend;
And we lift parched hands, as if exalting to heaven for rain,
That the circle may begin again.
When the Silence Falls
When the silence falls … the people shall gather,
Not in joy nor mourning, but in stillness;
And the priests shall stand before the altar,
Their hands empty of offerings.
When the silence falls … the incense shall not rise,
For no prayer shall remain upon our lips;
We have cried out in the rains and cursed in the drought,
And now we have no words to give.
When the silence falls … the children shall ask,
“Why do we come to this place?”
And the elders shall have no answer,
For the stones themselves have forgotten their purpose.
When the silence falls … the priests shall look upon each other,
And see their own faces as through water;
They shall remember the prayers they learned as boys,
And wonder if the words were ever heard.
When the silence falls … we shall see what we have built—
Altars worn smooth by our hands,
Bowls that held grain and oil and blood,
All the bargaining of our fathers with the sky.
When the silence falls … no voice shall descend,
Neither blessing nor judgment from above;
And we shall know that we stand alone,
Between the rain we fear and the sun we cannot bear,
Waiting in the house we made for a goddess
Who has not spoken in living memory.
Northcoast Antiquarian 