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rain

by Kate Swearingen

smell of rain rising from nowhere
hot like burnt rubber permeating the air
the sky opens
rain and sweat
    combine
clothes—heavy with heat—
    form a second skin
    claustrophobic and suffocating
the culprit seen only as a blur of perplexity
in columns of stark light
from parking lot beam
    and headlight speeding by
one unnoticed drop streams
    down my forehead
    and is seen
clouding my view
     as it falls off eyelashes
then another, and another
sheets fall on asphalt
sizzling like oil in a deep black frying pan
    —unseen things always seem louder in darkness
they combine in
    mystified cacophony
with the sound of a cricket
    mournful at its stormy fate
and the echo of my footsteps
    as they splatter through unobserved, black
       puddles
now I am small again
with barefeet and curls
    frizzy in the heavy after-rain air
a warm breeze unites my carefree laughter
    with the contented song of an invisible cricket
both of us joyfully observing the storm’s
    not-so-lethal aftermath
toes experimenting in the subtle splash
    and skew of my face
    as it seems to float amid the blackness
    of the asphalt
surrounded by the newly cleaned sky
    around me
framed beside the yard, under the stop sign, in a
       puddle
black night find me again in an echo of the cricket’s cry
stopping now, amid the rush of unseen torrents
that soothe my now uncovered feet
eyes closed, arms outstretched, face skyward splattered with rain
cries to shed layers of haste and hurry
indulgence in pure moments when as small as I
   forget the burdens of the storm and revel in the serenity that surrounds it
when we can glance upon ourselves in the most simple way
   and be amazed. 

10/21/2003

Posted on 04/01/2004
Copyright © 2024 Kate Swearingen

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Charles E Minshall on 04/05/04 at 04:54 AM

Refreshing poem Kate....Charlie

Posted by Jean Mollett on 09/30/06 at 05:12 AM

Hi Kate, Great write. Very well said. I love to hear it pinging off things. And to see it on the flowers and spider webbs after a rain. Specially roses. It's beauitful.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 10/07/06 at 02:06 PM

I'm pleased to see a poem so fine as POTD. Such a tribute to rain and how it surrounds and defines us in its presence.

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