sound machine

the crunching static sound
of metallic rain plays from 
my old bed room at my parent's house. 

that's where my dad sleeps now
& he keeps the sound machine
pouring all day set to "RAINFOREST."

when the machine was mine
i'd listen closely to the electric voice
for hours while trying 

to fall asleep. i wanted to
hear where the recording 
started over, but

i could never find it. 
instead the pattering of rain 
would rush & fall like

a real storm. i decide
that the sound machine must 
be linked to a real location,

a far off lush world where
it could rain as long as
someone was paying attention. 

i lay on the carpet & 
talk back to the sound machine.
i ask for a hint but

the downpour just keeps coming.
closing my eyes, as if trying 
to sleep, i reach out & spread

my fingers like a wide leaf
to imagine touching the droplets 
as they fall. i keep reaching

& digging myself deeper into the sound
until the warm water patters all
up my arm & across my body.

i open my eyes in a humid jungle.
there is nothing to be heard but rain.
i think "i will never

go back. it will be so easy 
to sleep here." i wonder if my dad
comes here when he naps 

in the afternoon or if 
he considers staying here & never
coming back 

to the crooked metal mattress
& the rattle of our old house. 
i search for him,

but only briefly. i hear the recording
start over, not because 
the jungle isn't real but

because there's only so many 
beautiful sounds it can make.
i'm soaked, i'm a mud footprint 

filled in with water. i'm my dad
wrapped in his son's old green blankets.
i'm turning into a sound machine.