Today’s rain has been falling in such great torrents,
(was it yesterday, too?),
it feels like summer’s sheets of unbridled wet season
or Florida summer, when my curly hair wants to curl like a vine
inside inside & up
so it can sit near my ear
& hear all that rain.
What of the cherry blossoms?
Are they curling curling then falling down?
What will be left when the rain’s sheets have fallen
off the line & the sky returns blue?
Will be be so barred in by all of our mounting garbage
& laundry desperately damp needing
to be dried or hung
that we cannot rejoin the parks, garden,
say earth in a picnic
or jog around with our little ones
for fear their boots are not tall enough?
This rain is chasing my flowers
and pinning them down
their fives pedals
down their pink
into muck and streams running gutters
in a street
in a city
grace and humble
We wait all year for the rain to dash our hope?
No. We wait for the sun & look on with trust
that we’ve caught the perfect picture already, caught it, trapped it
in a pressed flower book
where dreams and memories
do not only stay but
Rain, my darling, is for making things grow
& for opening up what is nearly ready.
We hang on & wait for the sun.