Post No. 810
.
Rain
.
I kneel on the grass
with the rain on my face
rivulets run
trickle down
between my breasts
parched as the ground
the earth and i
bone dry under the sky
drops melt, meld into one
vanish into cracks
fissures in the rocks
my tears disappear
consumed by the air
and the pain…
washes away in the rain
.
©Denise G Allen, 01 June 2015 03:25
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01/06/2015 at 5:05 pm
I can’t help but think of Burt Lancaster in “The Rainmaker”.. Except for the “rivulets run trickle down between my breasts” part. lol
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01/06/2015 at 6:35 pm
SOmetimes, in the middle of the drought we make our own rain. Even it is a relief, because holding it in only prolongs the drought.
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