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in the rain

tonight it is supposed to storm again.

maybe it is already, but my music masks

the patter of raindrops, and all the hint

i hear is the occasional rumble of thunder.

on tuesday i drove through a downpour

and at a red light prayed to God to be

spared from the indignity of death by

lightning in the intersection next to

7-eleven. the rain fell and the wind

blew and we thought that maybe a

hurricane had come to kansas. the

lightning lit up the sky until the wee

sma’s of the morning and my sleep

was restless. i want to be outside

now, running through the darkness

and the dampness, smelling the

dust and the rain on the air and

savouring the dispelled humidity.

my soul is no longer stormy, but

my joy longs to be unleashed in

the passion and fury of the storm.

but it is late, and dark, i am a girl,

and there are tornado watches. i

want to be in the rain right now, but

the hopeless romantic must yield

to the weatherman’s warnings. such

a pity it is, too, to waste the lovely rain.

 

 

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One thought on “in the rain

  1. Yes. The heavens opened wide

    this week, and poured their wretched tears

    upon the earth. The thunder and slap of

    the rain continues to pound against

    the tiles and the boards. Incessant,

    eternal rain. I cannot hear my thoughts

    beneath the ruckus and the tumult, let

    alone the sounds of music. I dreamt last

    night that my local news radio station

    had developed a humorous new concept.

    A reporter, based beneath a street gutter,

    would provide live news and weather

    updates. People gathered round the curb

    with their umbrellas, grins upon their faces.

    The reporter described his perspective. Today’s rainfall is

    waist high. Pollution levels are irritating.

    The people cheered, and laughed.

    Hilarious. The phone rang. “We want you

    to do tomorrow’s report”, the cheery voice proclaimed.

    I accepted, but no longer was I

    amused. I do not want to be out

    in the rain. I want to read poetry

    that lifts my heart. I want to feel the

    rhythm of a verse. Thoughts ungathered

    have gathered my thoughts. The violent roar,

    I realize, no longer persists. Look! The rain

    has slowed. It is now a gentle mist. I am comfortable.

    There is an individual, somewhere, derided, who needs

    an outstretched hand. Look to the street. Lift the iron

    storm water grate and you will see. Your poetry

    has given that person my voice.

    I thank you.

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