Sweet Rain - Poem by Judith Skillman
Tasted, smelled, rising from hot asphalt, sweet rain
in the street where a man works on his camper in the rain.
Like desire, felt less often now we are old, the joint pain
and fatigue competing with that other. Sweet rain
rising, lifting the dampened piano that hides its teeth
beneath a lid. Sweet rain, bird song, all the rain-wet
exigencies a house brings to bear. Valence, curtain,
scrubbed porcelain. Perhaps a mouse-brown rain,
pummeling the decking. Or a violet sky shines behind
cloud cover, dense with time. Where shall I go, rain,
how can I recall my only name? The man's sweat
pays for no one's poverty. Often I feel jealous, sweet rain,
of brother and sister — gone to Sweden, or France.
That's the end of the story that began with a father's rain-sweet
face, poor past, Holocaust. Let the locusts swarm, sweet rain
brings them down out of the dogwood, they die by sweet rain.
Comments about Sweet Rain by Judith Skillman
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You