The Devil Is Beating His Wife

I raised my small arms
To the wondrous rain.

Billions of rounded
Prisms glistened with
Sparkling cooling
Rainbows of crystal
Faerie kisses soothing
My hot brow, wetting
My long hair that gave
Me an elfin shade from
The now smiling sun
Dancing in the falling
Late afternoon soft
Warm perfect
Barely splashing…

“Grandmother, Mother
Look! Oh see! Come out
Come out!”

“What now?
Oh. I see.”

“That is just the Devil
Beating his wife.”

Grandmother and Mother
Returned to their tasks,
Nodding to each other
In a rare moment
Of womanly agreement.

Mother echoed
Sidelong glance at
My wet self, standing
Just beyond the shelter
Of the roof.

“How can the Devil
Beat his wife?
The Devil doesn’t
Have a wife.
Who would marry
The Devil?”

Again Grandmother
And Mother shared
That strange look.
So strange because
They never agreed
About anything.

Mother looked at
Me, for once with
Compassion rather
Than contempt.

“Many are the
Foolish girls
Who have
Married devils
For nothing
But their charm.”

“Child, one day
You will see
These devils
Dancing ’round
Preening and
Crowing and
Making promises.
Lying and
Knowing of
Their devilish charm.”

“This rain is
The Rain of Woman’s
Silent Tears.”

“Too late do
Many women see
The Devil shed
His Cloak of Charm.
It’s useless to
Cry for what
Is already done,
When there is
Work to be done.”

“Go on now.
Play in the
Sorrow of Women.
Today it is glittering
Rounded prism of
Warm and soothing
Girlhood rain.”

” But know, Child,
When the sun is
Shining and a
Gentle rain
is falling,
Both at
The same time…”

“The Devil
Is Beating
His Wife.”

Bear … 07.08.2014
ⓒ Bearspawprint