Waiting for Rain’s Perish

by Kathleen Calby

Torrent hushes hounds, children

curl and whimper. Sleep, we say, 

though we lay wake side by side, 

listen to rain’s knife flicks

on roof, windows, house sides, 

pray they not slice through.

For days, dawn sky bays low 

to ground. Perpetual dusk. 

Eggs, grits left untouched.

Walls damp, paper bubbles. Toilet

drips in answer. Cornmeal, sugar, 

salt clump. Bread beards green.

All week rain stole land, spread into

yard. No boat, the car useless.

Water raised itself as it came down.

Carolina flood, it drowned 

basement, skirted porch, took

branches, chickens, small rodents

surprised by its currents.

Moved on, they abandoned us.

No relief caught in sky’s hand.

Only when night drums dark,

do we lose sight of damage, omens.

Pause, scared to be so blind.

In such poverty of light, we

pray for rain’s perish, 

silence with the ground again.