we bought a yardstick made of brass
to see how deep the puddle grew
and watched the silver waters pass
beneath the sky of bruised blue.
the elders said, "record the date,
and note the inches on the chart."
they taught me how to calculate
the things that tear a roof apart.
so now i know the speed of sound,
the millimetres in the flood,
the weight of water on the ground,
and how the dust turns into mud.
and yet, when thunder cracks the air
and shadows gather in the room,
there is no equation there
to tell me how to measure gloom.
we learned to count the drops that fell
upon the bricks outside our door,
but not a single book could tell
why some got soaked and some stayed dry upon the floor.