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| Photo borrowed from Poets United blog |
The rainchild was always
first to run outside
when the drops would fall.
Her tongue thirsted for
the purest tear from heaven
on her tongue.
Not once did the rainchild fret
when the skies would open wide
and everything got wet.
Her pink galoshes
glistened next to tarmac-rainbows.
The rainchild preferred
the Mother-May-I game
on a dampened drive where
slick worms writhed.
She carried them to safety
when the sun returned.
The rainchild laughed
when the rain poured down;
she smiled where others cried.
A bubble-umbrella
was her window to
the washed-up world.
The rainchild is now
a woman of the rain.
She bows her head
in expectation
of a benediction.
Kat Mortensen©2012
n.b. This poem is in response to an earlier "Thursday Think Tank" post on the Poets United blog. I happened to see this photograph today and my inner child came out.
Lovely Kat, and look, I can comment!
ReplyDeleteThese lines I particularly liked:
'the Mother-May-I game
on a dampened drive where
slick worms writhed.'
And Ice Men is very special. Bravo you.
This reminds me of when I was a kid - we played Mother May I. But I'm pretty sure I've always been too prissy to run around in the rain - sad!
ReplyDeleteHey Titus! So glad you can comment! Thanks so much for the careful reading and generous words. I appreciate that.
ReplyDelete@Hi Dana - I was a girly-girl, but not too bothered about rain.
Intriguing! So many fine details--the "tarmac-rainbows" is a favorite moment--I know just the look you mean!
ReplyDelete