this is not rain

March 4, 2007

This is not rain, I tell myself. Real rain
is warm and cool at once, full as breasts
and always sends rainbows. Real rain
tastes of precious metals, of grape juice
and lovers’ mouths. It dissolves clothing, skin
and runs one in all colours to fountain
in folds of ocean, where eyes, nerves, ghosts
stretch between currents to name them.
It is still March: April showers stride slowly on.

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3 Responses to “this is not rain”

  1. You engage the senses well in this one.

    And this one is very relatable to me. In fact, I found it a bit odd because 2 days before you posted this, I posted some similar feelings about rain.

    Maybe this is too quick of an observation, but it seems we blog about some of the same subject matter.

  2. I think it must be the time of year. It was written after I was about to go to the shops and it was dark and raining – I thought, is this spring or what? And then I thought, well, only just – April showers to come.

    Thanks for your kind words, Transwriter.

    endlessly

  3. Been reading your post. I love the last few lines particularly, and yes, weather affects people in similar ways, though some goths only like the rain.

    Apparently someone studying Wuthering Heights found that literally all the bad stuff happened on wintry days in foul weather – there’s got to be something in that. Can you imagine Wuthering Heights set in Goa?

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