C.W. Bryan | + Follow Poet |
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Rain

rain hitting the asphalt, the cracking concrete, water weaving
its way down the overpass. Residents cover up with plastic,
a conflagration of yellow light on garbage bags
hitting tree tops, branches, leaves old and new. Boughs
sagging with the weight of the world pressing down
hitting the tops of umbrellas, flags, car covers, dampening
canvas one drop at a time. Its pit-pattering like horseshoes
on the dirt of some race, somewhere, that someone
has too much money on
hitting the skylight in the bathroom, knocking on my door and, 
like a gracious host I let it in. A few icy drops take refuge in
the warmth of the house, just to die in the glow of electric
light
hitting fields of Queen Anne’s lace, goldenrod, daisies, tulips, 
wildflowers, daffodils, chicory, fire pink, gold thread,
twinflower, honeysuckle, jack-in-the-pulpit
wolfs-bane
hitting streets so black with tar, pouring past the lights, rushing 
down the gutters of dirty concrete, people fording the rivers on the street,
swallowed up by parched gutters
hitting oceans teeming with aliens, teeming with life and death, 
salt spray and driftwood, the sea drinks the fresh, falling water
and waves its hand in thanks
hitting the lacquered wings of owls, beading up, rolling down, soaking
through. Waiting for the dusk to thrash the liquid weight off,
and fly
hitting the arid desert of the birdbath never filled, its porous concrete drinking 
sweetly. The bowl fills with innocent rainwater, soon frozen by winter’s touch. An ice skating rink for chipping sparrows
hitting lakes, ponds, rivers, streams, creeks, fjords, inlets, marshes, swamps, 
reservoirs, puddles, sounds, and springs. Inundating the world with
nectar of the gods, bringing life
hitting levees and dams, dunes and banks, silt fences and retaining walls, moats and sewers, pounding upon them all, breaking them down, beating them back, ceaselessly. Water grasping for calamity
hitting you as you walk home, pulling up your coat just a little higher,
bangs sticking to your forehead, hair tucked snug behind your ears,
the wind whips droplets sideways, gravity pulling them down
from the heavens, rain so hard every drop is a diamond. 
hitting me as I stand here, waiting, water dripping down the sides of my 
face, filling my ears, head too bloated for thoughts. Eyes too wet
to even notice the difference, clothes soaked heavy as lead.  Hitting me as I write this for you. 
hitting me, pallid and desperate. Hitting me and I have no hope
of ever Hitting back.

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