I enjoy the smell of rain.

Dropping freely on the ground,

not

where

caring fall

              they

F A L L

To the trees and plants it does not sever from.

The humans decide to run or hide.

Embracing them or snarling at them.

I enjoy the smell of rain.

When combined together, create puddles for the little children to jump in.

When individualized, creating a beautiful splash when they hit the ground.

Yet, I don’t hear the sound of the rain, but pounding in the sky.

Or maybe from the ground.

I stare into those old buildings, as they fill the sea with oil.

The smell of hurt fish haunts me, their bodies covering my eyes.

I swat them with my hand, as another smell hits my nose.

It's the burning of the trees I worked so hard to feed.

The rain and I worked,

taking shifts every night.

I guess it was no use, maybe the moon was right. The earth looks better in the nighttime.

When the trees on fire are the light,

the water and oil mix well,

and the smells are better disguised.

I shouldn’t have trusted the humans to provide me with blessings.

I soon expect the rainbows we made

to fall down to the ground

to be laid to rest.

Oh, silly me.

Silly sun expected the best.

Silly sun expected to receive a gift back.

A healthy flower would have sufficed.

Shayla Astudillo is currently a first-year student at Bard College. They spend a lot of time writing poetry about their mental health, the nature around them, and the way writing has impacted their life. They hope their writing can help others process their emotions in the same way writing does for them.