Monday, April 7, 2008


When it comes to rain I take pretty polar positions.

If it’s winter, and I HAVE to be somewhere at a certain time and take public transportation to get there, I am pretty much “Rain, rain, go away.”

But I love to wake up to the sound of rain on a lazy weekend morning when there is no rush to get out of the house. It’s delicious to snuggle back down under the covers and know the world outside is wet while I am cozy.

I love to sit on the couch and watch a downpour out the window, preferably with lots of thunder and lightning. I miss good old mid-western U.S. summer thunderstorms. Even when we get lightning in Madrid, I don’t always get to see it because I can’t always see sky from my windows without getting up.

I even like to walk in the rain, if I can dress for it and know that I can go inside and get dry and warm again when I am done. My favorite is talking a walk in autumn rain, when it has not gotten too cold yet, and you can smell the wet leaves (that’s better than wet dog!)

There is also something amazing about being outside in a warm summer shower, with bare feet, getting soaked to the skin and not feeling a chill at all.

I’m actually hankering for a good thunderstorm this week; it’s supposed to rain. I can only hope!

The adultery and the accident
and the divorce that year
were like sideways rain,
blown parallel to the ground
by gales cursing the same
(and anything rooted).

The rain,
like bullets
fired mercilessly
by The Mercenary,
like knives
thrown by The Bearded Man Himself
that governs The Big Top,
too many blades to dodge.

You are going to get hit
and soaked
in your own blood.


This year
the cloud is your hand,
moving lightly,
and the shade is welcome.

And the rain is your voice,
falling gently this time.
Gently, this time.

It is night.
I have been sleeping since dusk.
I came home from the fields
with a hole in my boot
(though I started the morning
with a new sole).
The fields have worn me thin.

It was only dusk,
but I closed my eyes, hoping for midnight.

Sometime after that:
the cloud came.
At dusk I closed my eyes,
and the cloud came.

I do not know when it happened
(before midnight?)
but no matter
because now it is night and
there are no stars,
because they are covered.
But no matter
because there is rain
all around me,
your voice just beside me.

And I am rested.
I do not need to see stars,
I do not need direction.
Your voice, the rain, has come.
And you are all around me.

I can sleep again,
but I wish to stay awake,


in this night,



Clutching your whisper.

1 comment:

pickles-n-icecream said...

nice poem. I am a HUGE fan of rain, myself. Rain- well, water in general- is therapeutic. People are always saying I am crazy, because I start to smile when grey clouds appear. Rain is infinitely more beautiful than sunshine, if you ask me. :-) Enjoy it! I heard that we will have a whole week of rain.
(by the way, I found your blog through the oasis-website, and enjoy your entries.)
eva dixon hund