Fall 2021 | Occasus | Issue 11.2

Cogito, Ergo...

When I was small and the rain came down like Genesis
I would jump into my yellow vinyl jacket and red rubber boots
And march outside and pounce on every puddle and dance in the downpour
And use my toe to clear clogged storm sewers and save my family from the flood, and when I
finally came in with pruney feet and cold, heavy clothes clinging to my little limbs,
I would smear snot off my numb nose with my shirt sleeve and smile.
 
When I was small, sometimes my feet would get in each other's way,
And finding myself on the sidewalk, cement like sandpaper scraping open my skin,
I would suddenly feel fragile. But the throbbing wound made me thankful
for the faithful form that housed me on this earth, and hugs healed me quickly:
soon I’d be picking at scabs, scorning the pain that caused them.
 
When I was small, at that start of spring—not according to the calendar
But according to the way the earth breathes faintly on your face
So that even though you still see spots of snow you smell the promise of fresh muck
drifting down from things thawing somewhere--
on that day I felt I could feel the future
And I would hurtle down a hill and let my probing palm ponder a patch of soggy grass
And my heart would surge with song as I blessed the breeze that beckoned me.
 
But when I got big, I found higher things, and shackled my host.
 
I thought I was wise, a bona fide sage
with all of the truths of ages unknown.
I thought I was clever, spending my years
Rejecting the earth to exercise wit.
I thought I was real: my mind could transcend
And substitute matter. Discipline trained
my body to yield, to stay in the chair,
aphonic, inert, and fatten my brain
By starving my will. In safety I palled;
No season arrived to alter my fate.
 
But then, one day, it rained like Genesis.
Forlorn, my frame declared its Exodus:
I dared to don the yellow vinyl coat,
A little laugh began to thaw my throat.
My scalding skull was cooled with every drip,
My brutal brain at last relaxed its grip.
Each drop was nature’s precious ministry,
Recalling what I lost by staying dry. 

Madeleine Schaafsma is finishing her third year at King's for an Honors Specialization in English and a Minor in Writing from Western. She can't resist a good metaphor and loves to explore the meaning within the seemingly mundane, so she hopes to use her writing to share the resulting joys, questions, and reflections with others.