The air in our house was sodden,
the walls bulging with moisture
as the monsoon rains fell.

"The eensy, weensy spider
went up the water spout..."

Water twisted in heavy ropes from drainpipes
and arched from the roof corners,
water so thick I couldn´t see
across the verandah.

"Down came the rain
and washed the spider out..."

We all took cover -
spiders, mosquitos, scorpions, us.
Mother told us to shake out our shoes
before putting them on,
to reach for cups
by their handles, not the rims.
Check everything:
pockets, coatsleeves, between the sheets.
And we were sentenced to the living room floor
with scissors and crayons
to make paperdoll families
from pictures in the Sears & Roebuck catalog.

"Out came the sun
and dried up all the rain..."

When the sky cleared
we began to emerge, like earthworms
flooded to the surface of the ground,
sent off to school again
armed with vials of salt
 to loosen leeches from our ankles.

"The eensy, weensy spider
went up the spout again."

Sunlight knifed between the trees in the woods,
cut across our path
searching out furtive remnants of water.
Through my classroom window
I watched a fiery drop slide down a thread
in the huge new spiderweb anchored
between the sill and the eaves,
splintering my view of the courtyard
into sharp geometric fragments.

Victoria C. Brush
...remembering Landour and Eastwood
House as a kindergartener in 1956