Posted on by Renee Espriu

Turtle Rainstick

The tall piece of bamboo sets in the corner
as though keeping the walls from colliding
with the aboriginal turtle in mustard yellow hues
keeping a silent vigil, a respite, as the rain
signals a force of nature outside my window

I am reminded that I am a creature of water
my molecular being silent within a human shell

the wonder of a million droplets from a cloud
forming a single raindrop is mind boggling
as they gather in rhythmic action

creating puddles, streams, rivers, waterfalls
cascading exponentially into vast oceans
a home for other water beings living
within a life-giving force

and I listen in amazement at the symphony
that brings life to the earth I live on
where brilliant colors of flowers bloom
in gardens tended and meadows flourish
on mountains

replete with nature’s abundance of creatures
beasts walking the land and flocks of birds
taking flight tenured with bird song

am I not enraptured to know my heart
still beats within its fluidic capsule embrace
of the water that holds me ensconced
in safe keeping

that when the rain thus ceases its’ melodic sounds
the bamboo stick awaits but my touch
yearning to recreate rain’s wondrous music
the timeless aboriginal turtle
warm beneath my hand

© May 2019 Renee Espriu

Background Bamboo Photo Taken From Public Domain Pictures & Overlain With My Take On Aboriginal Turtle Art

13 Replies to “Turtle Rainstick”

  2. I love this Renee, and I hope you won’t mind if I include a poem that this piece reminds me so strongly of, and that I think you would really enjoy.

    THE WATERS OF MY BODY
    Juliet Kono

    Two days after giving birth,
    my body was like a boat the sprung a leak –
    breasts heavy with milk.
    I wet the sheets.
    I leaked through sleep and dreams.
    I’d get up and my hair would be sticky,
    matted like a cat’s wet fur.
    Milk gushed into the mouth
    of my child, and sometimes,
    I thought he’d choke
    on all the milk my body made.
    And who was I?
    Young girl in a pony tail
    too young to be a mother
    who went out for walks
    and grew spots on her t-shirts
    that spread larger
    than the high beams of passing cars.

    I remember a young man,
    both of us surprised
    at sap rising, slowly,
    like thermometer mercury,
    the weight of semen.
    And all summer,
    in the back seat of his car,
    the water of our bodies rose and fell-
    a water table of desire
    that entered into the pleasure
    of our first experience.

    The encounter with water
    has always been met with surprise:
    menarche, broken water bags, water in the lungs.
    Each water with its own color,
    its own peculiar smell.
    Sweet or swampish,
    or fishy,
    like the open-air seafood markets around town.
    All my life
    I could have drowned.

    How is it that
    the water has receded
    from the shoreline of the body,
    now that I’m older.
    How is it that
    all the water has abandoned
    the sand, pebbles, driftwood,
    left them open to the wind
    and stranded above the waterline.

    Aloha, dear one. 💗🌺😘

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  4. Such lovely words Renee, We once had a Rain Stick, 🙂 goodness knows where it went, I loved turning it this way and that creating the sound of rain, though we need never be far from its sound here in the UK lol..
    Sending Love and thoughts your way Renee..
    Stay Blessed.. ❤

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    1. Thank you, Sue. I do love my rain stick but as you say, it isn’t much needed with so much rain…both there and here. But I relish listening in any case. Blessings to you my friend always. xoxox

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