Treasure Island

Jane Kenyon

(1947-1995 / United States)

Heavy Summer Rain


The grasses in the field have toppled,
and in places it seems that a large, now
absent, animal must have passed the night.
The hay will right itself if the day

turns dry. I miss you steadily, painfully.
None of your blustering entrances
or exits, doors swinging wildly
on their hinges, or your huge unconscious
sighs when you read something sad,
like Henry Adams's letters from Japan,
where he traveled after Clover died.

Everything blooming bows down in the rain:
white irises, red peonies; and the poppies
with their black and secret centers
lie shattered on the lawn.

Submitted: Friday, May 23, 2014
Edited: Friday, May 23, 2014

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  • Colleen Courtney (5/29/2014 9:04:00 PM)

    Why does it seem that the rain makes missing someone even more lonelier than when the sun is bright and shining? Love the last stanza of this poem. (Report) Reply

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