awaken to the gently unstoppable rush of rain landing on roofs, 
pavement, trees, porches, cars, balconies, yards, windows, doors, 
pedestrians, bridges, beaches, mountains, the patter of millions 
of small drops making contact everywhere, enveloping the city 
in a sheen of wet life, multiple gifts from the clouds, pooled 
over centuries and channelled to power us, rain propels our 
water-based bodies that eat other water-based bodies, mineral 
vegetable animal. when i turn on the shower, i turn my face and 
shoulders toward post-chlorinated rain. the tap releases free rain 
to slake our thirst, transformed through pipes and reservoirs. 
anonymous agent of all that we, unwitting beneficiaries, do. 
refusing the inertia of amnesia, i welcome the memory of rain 
sliding into sink and teacup, throat and bladder, tub and toilet. 
bountiful abundant carrier of what everyone emits into the 
clouds, be that exhale or smoke, belch or chemical combustion, 
flame or fragrance, the rain gives it all back to us in spates, a 
familiar sound, an increasingly mysterious substance

Rita Wong, “flush” from undercurrent. Copyright © 2015 by Rita Wong. Reprinted with the permission of Nightwood Editions. All rights reserved.