I scan the sky the way others study
a lover’s face. It is
all I have. Three nights ago when
I went out to urinate,
the smell of rain was so rich I couldn’t
get enough of it.
I turned my face to the invisible sky
& stood there taking
great deep breaths, drawing the strange
air into my nostrils,
& when I went back in my glasses were
so wet I had to grope
for a cloth — swatch of cotton softer
than any skin.

Sorry for my relative absense around here; I’ve been busy with qarrtsiluni stuff.

6 Replies to “Rain”

  1. Like Deb, I hardly know what to say about this very poignant poem – the second statement stops me dead in my urban, people-filled tracks, like some of Merton’s utterances out of his own solitude – and then you bring it all to such an equally-poignant conclusion, saying a great deal in very few words.

  2. So lovely. A poem about facing the elements — both the outer weather and its coupled inner weather. Readers wonder: are the glasses wet from rain (outer weather), or from tears (inner weather)?

    (P.S. I thought of the phrase “facing the elements” after reading DV’s most recent RWP poem.)

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.