It is raining as we get on the plane
Raindrops trail on the outside double window
The tarmac is wet and slick
And sounds are water muted
Our showered bodies smell clean
But we feel somehow unprepared for our return
To the dry land
The panic land
The brown land
The bone sand dam
The hollow dry bed
The withered pot plant
The turned off tap
The unused pipes
The dirty sheets
The threat of fires.
Our throats dry in the pressurised cabin
And our tiny bottles of bought sparkling water
Are drops in the sky from up here
They will pass through our bodies before we leave the air.
This last week of swimming
And summer thunderstorms
And pink centred bromeliads holding minature worlds of water
For frogs and bugs
And taps for feet washing
And balconies dripping rainwater onto the balconies below
And gathering more and then dripping onto the balconies below
Has felt so tropical and abundant.
I am drying up and out
As I head home.