Posts Tagged ‘rain’





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


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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It is not only that the desert longs for water.
Of course the water longs for desert, too.
Any raindrop can fall and get lost in an ocean,
but to fall where it’s parched, where just
the smallest amount of wet can launch a hundred
hundred blooms, can set ten thousand thousand
seeds into frothy flight, oh. Now that is something
worth falling for. No imaginary desert. The real thing,
all prickle and spine and thorn and barb.
And the petals after. The heat can spend months
holding off just the briefest sprinkle. But then
no one said it was going to be easy, this going
where we’re needed most. Patience is the marriage
of sweetness and sting. To bring life one must also be alive.

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Inside me, the rain
is washing away
the hardened clay
of my former lives—
all those statues
that others and I
have built, see
how they erode.
Not all art endures.
The rain is blameless.
I saw a man
who’d been wrung
by storm, his eyes
as clear as rain,
his arms as open
as wind, his body
one grief and one joy.
I have spent
too much time
avoiding the rain.
I asked the man
how it felt
to be so wrung.
He said to me,

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