When the rains came

she held her spear upright,

flooded the desert plain

and scattered the birds

scratching across the sky,

bleeding light

into the darkness of land.

When the rains came

she lay down in the mud

and drank in the light.

When the rains came

she suddenly realized

how thirsty she’d been.

When suffering comes our way, we often respond with a fight, for we see only despair even in the light.  Eventually, if we are wise, we learn to surrender to its message, lying down in the mud and drinking in whatever it has to give us.  Finally, one day, we look back on our suffering and see how we have transformed–indeed how we might even be mildly grateful for the suffering because we swim a deeper more meaningful river now.    

© Andrea Mathews 2015

Heavy Downpour

Cracking open

Slip of sheer white, soundless–

a design of strength

cracking open sky,

an open space for wind

visible on fog,

roiling in the sails. 


I take up the cross and follow

the sound of whales–a league of seasons–

dry my shells on the sand.


There is this cataclysm of universe

on universe, this crater in the known,

this blitzkrieg of earth, wind, fire,

all turned retrograde in the fourth,

the dogma, the credo, the alpha and omega–

this coming from that,

the egg that planted the lightning

that planted the seed of me

from the corpulence of soul



Lightning struck

the same man twice,

once to make him blind,

twice to make him see.

Trouble is just another pathway in.

© Andrea Mathews, 2014


Who’s Crazy?!




I saw her dancing

in the rubber room,

saw her legs white with

sweat, draining light.

She danced until she spent it all

then lay like a scarf

on the floor,

dripping her dreams

on hard night.

Carving the little wind like a candle.

This room is hers.


I wonder what would have happened to Robin Williams had we all been made privy to his private misery.  What would we have made of him? How would we have mocked him?  How would other comedians have worked Robin into their own routines?  Would he have been allowed to create his beautiful career of poignant and powerful dramatic and comedic roles? We are merciless when it comes to judging the mentally ill, so much so that we will do just about anything to keep from being so judged.  We will not tell our sacred secrets for fear people will think we are “crazy.” We will go out of our way to avoid expressing an emotion others might find too intense–we don’t want to be thought odd.  We give ourselves no right to be different, for difference is awarded with alienation, instead of its rightful appreciation.  So, when a person does finally end up on a psych ward, we must at last afford them their “patient rights.”


© 2014 Andrea Mathews