- The Price of Rain
The truth is that no man has taken anythingI didn’t give him. I mean, no man has takenanything I claimed as my own. My body, my stink,my land to plant in. It’s never been about the priceof lettuce. How many times have I taken somethingthat did not belong to me? Queen, queen, I croon,pulling up handfuls of greens. My, my.Property’s still theft. I let my wet skin slipthrough the drainpipe. My mother says love,in our family, means sacrifice. I thought,if I lay my legs on the altar, I thought somethingwould come back to me. Mine, mine. I offered it,being promised rain. Being told my wet was inthe common domain. I whispered, our body, our legs,our compost heap. I gave freely. I gave it for free,thinking that made me wingèd—stork delivering herselfto herself. Look how free I am. Dowager Slut. Queen Regent.Turns out, there are no synonyms for King. My lord,my darling, my darkening sky. You can’t buya thunderstorm. Nor should you bring one backfrom the dead. But I threw open the gates.I invited them in. I said, help yourselves. Then watchedas they went room to room, taking, emptyingthe shelves, sucking marrow from the bones,and overhead, the sky filled with rain. [End Page 18]
Franny Choi is the author of the collection Floating, Brilliant, Gone (Write Bloody, 2014) and the chapbook Death by Sex Machine (Sibling Rivalry Press, 2017). She has received fellowships from Kundiman and the Rhode Island State Council on the Arts. She is a Project VOICE teaching artist, an MFA Candidate at the University of Michigan’s Helen Zell Writers’ Program, and a member of the Dark Noise Collective.