little by little, a lot becomes a lot.

little by little,

a lot has become a lot.

have you seen how the rain

does more than

wash away the dust

from a week of drought?

the puddles become lakes

and the drain makes rivers,

the house cannot make for a boat,

so I learn to swim.

little by little,

a lot has become a lot.

will God take again

what has been given?

tying myself to a branch of hope

as the waters of death

attempt to drown me.

how foolish was I

at the young age of 5

to pray for swimming pools

and lakes to play mermaids in!

little by little,

a lot becomes a lot.

perhaps

it is the ceaseless rain

that drums against the roof

or the symphony the clouds make

up above

for my prayers remain 

unanswered.

or perhaps, this is grace

meant to deafen 

to flood the mind as to 

lull the loss that awaits,

and the grief,

the loud undying grief.