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Posts Tagged ‘rain’

 

 

 

In the red mud, in the muck,

in the day’s surplus of luck,

the sudden rains make flood of wish

and fill the road with detritus

and we are stranded where we are

the roads all closed, and still, I hear

inside, some voice, insistent,

chanting More, more.

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Wish

 

for my father

 

 

And when at last

the healing comes,

may it come like the rain

after a long drought,

so soft that at first

you aren’t sure

it is raining,

but the fragrance

overcomes you,

green and wet,

and the world

looks dewy and

you feel it in your lungs.

Yes, may the healing

arrive on the edge

of perception

and then feel

wholly present,

as today when the rain turned

long and steady,

the kind that slowly

saturates and changes everything

so quietly that

you almost don’t remember

what it was like before

and everywhere you look,

all you see is promise.

 

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Puddled

 

 

 

Today it was the puddle

that woke up my heart,

the way it received the sky

 

and remade it in smeary mirrors

of grays beneath my feet.

How at first, I tried so hard to avoid it,

 

and then, once my feet were wet,

I could see it only as a way to play,

an invitation for joy. To splash

 

in the clouds. To splash for the pleasure

of splashing. To splash until

I could no longer recognize her, that part

 

of me who longed to stay safe, stay dry.

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One Almost

 

 

 

writing a letter on a leaf

and throwing it to the wind—

all day it smells like rain

 

 

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darkening sky—

packing up the tent

and driving straight toward the rain

 

 

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Sometimes After a Drought

 

 

 

the way the rain

soaked the earth last night—

not because the earth deserved it

but because it could not help but rain—

that’s how love arrives

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One Inner Desert

 

 

thick with rain

this afternoon and still

the thirstiest parts of me

shriveled

longing to be drenched

 

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Love reign o’er me, rain on me, rain on me.

—Pete Townshend

 

 

And it does rain, not just a sprinkle

but sheets of rain, pelting rain,

a punishing, unapologetic rain,

and I huddle beneath the thin shelter

where some government agency

must have once thought a map should be.

But there is no map. The metaphor

is not lost on me. I watch the rain

turn to hail. It makes an angry music

on the metal roof as it covers the dirt

with white.

 

We who pray for rain do not pray

for it to be like this—we imagine

perhaps something tender, something soft,

something gentle like the voice of a lover,

like the hum that wraps us when words

are lost inside kisses. But rain, like love,

rules us in ways we could never predict.

 

The road is no longer dusty nor dry,

and after twenty minutes I leave my thin canopy

and run into the drizzle. Everywhere is puddle,

a playground for those who are fond

of such play. I play. The sky is gray

and rumbles as if to say it will do

as it damn well wants. The rain

is cool, and my body churns until

my skin is hot again, so hot that when

the rain comes down hard again

this time I do not hide.

 

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learning to choose rain—

not because I want rain

but because it’s raining

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On a Rainy, Rainy Night

this heart a wilted flower

trying to pretend

it doesn’t need the rain

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