Too much or never enough

By
Naa Asheley Ashitey


Is it a silly thought
that I wish I knew what
a rainbow could look like
if it did not require a storm
to form its existence?


To contemplate if such a beauty
can exist independent of
lightning strikes.


The sun slowly escapes from
Under the rug of clouds that hid its glow
and this is how she greets us hello.


Maybe the rainbow was supposed
to be an apology for
Making darkness arrive
Prior to 7pm.


But that wasn’t her choice.


She was still
giving light to us,
it just happened to be
hidden by the clouds.


she is not the reason for the
car crash on 74th,
nor for the echoes of dogs howling
and running into closets and bathrooms
after an extended cascade of thunder.


If she had the power,
I think she would’ve broken
through the walls
placed in front of her
and relit the world.


But instead, we place the
burden on the crash on her
and not the man who was
drunk driving at 3:45pm in the afternoon.
Cause anything non-manmade can be reimbursed—
excluding bodies of course.


I feel for the sun
And the constant burden of apologies
It seems she is assigned to.




Why won’t you let me rest?


_________________________

Maybe one day after the
Sun is able to break through the next storm,


I’ll take my car,
Making sure that I am
paying attention to every loose branch
That landed on the road,


And take a few extra seconds
at the yield sign to make sure that the
mother walking her toddler
make it across to the sidewalk
on the other side of the crossroad.


I’ll eventually park my car
At a place that is closest
To what may be the
edge of the rainbow,


maybe an old parking lot,
or near the entrance of
the one of the strawberry fields.


As the sun greets me by her rays
Hugging my skin,
I’ll whisper a soft
thank you to the sun.


I’d tell her she does not
have to feel like she has
to gift us with her presence
when we have clearly
taken advantage of her.


I won’t be shocked if
Her response is to
Hide behind the clouds again


And let the rain pour once more.




Naa Asheley Ashitey is a Chicago-born writer and MD–PhD candidate at the University of Wisconsin–Madison. A first-generation, low-income Ghanaian-American and University of Chicago alumna, she writes at the intersection of race, medicine, and belonging. Her creative and editorial writing examines how policy, media, and academia reproduce structural violence—and what it means to resist with truth. Her creative work appears or is forthcoming in Eunoia Review, BULL, Hobart, Michigan City Review of Books, and editorials for The Xylom, MedPage Today and KevinMD. She has been nominated for multiple awards, including Best Small Fiction. More at NaaAshitey.com. Twitter/Instagram: @foreverasheley Bluesky: @foreverasheley.bsky.social